Perhaps
by Toffeecrisp
Summary: Chapter 1 was originally written before episode 5 was aired. The story is an alternative ending for Molly and Captain James - A story of what might have been!
1. Chapter 1

She saw her sitting by his bedside and knew in an instant that she was his wife. 'Out of my league' sprang immediately to mind. One glance told Molly that there was a gulf of life experience, class and wealth between them. She was attractive, well-groomed, distinctly middle-class with an air of confidence in her demeanour that Molly could never match.

All the way here on the train she had been fighting a battle with her nerves. The two hour journey had seemed like an age and yet she had almost wanted it never to end. It was four weeks since the disastrous encounter at the check point. She had replayed the scene in her head so many times and yet the memories hurt just as much now as they had in the immediate aftermath. Her fear in those moments on the bridge trying to save the lives of Captain James and Smurf had not lessened over time. The confusion, the noise the shouting and that final shocking moment when she had taken Captain James gun and fired one decisive shot, had haunted her in the weeks that followed.

Then there was the guilt. The guilt was worse. She tortured herself endlessly, remembering conversations that had occurred. Should she have been harsher towards Smurf and made sure that he was in no doubt about her feelings? Had she encouraged him to harbour hopes of a future together? Should she have guarded her feelings towards Captain James and been the kind of soldier he had tried to be until that final fateful day? 'Stay alert, stay focussed, stay alive' his mantra. Instead there had been the dreadful, emotional outburst from Smurf, Captain James distracted and distinctly unfocussed and then that shattering moment, the burst of gun fire and suddenly he was lying in agony on the ground his life at risk and his military career in tatters. Fate or fluke? To Molly it was neither. She felt nothing but guilt.

"Can I help you?" the nurse interrupted her thoughts.

"I…came to visit Captain James, but I can see he's got a visitor already." Molly replied self-consciously, not wanting to draw attention to herself as she stood by the door at the entrance to the ward.

"Shall I let him know you're here. What name is it?" the nurse said helpfully

Molly shook her head, "No….I'll come back another time, don't disturb him."

The nurse was about to move away but Molly caught her by the arm,

"How's he doing?" she asked hesitantly

The nurse nodded reassuringly, "OK. He's got a way to go yet but he's on the mend."

Molly swiftly turned around and pushed open the double swing doors, disappearing from sight a second later. The doors squeaked nosily on their hinges. At the far end of the ward, Captain James turned his head towards the sound, but there was nothing there.

The squeak of the doors had distracted him. They really should get the hinges oiled he thought vaguely and with a tinge of annoyance. It had taken his attention away from Rebecca. Not that he was sorry. He was tired and he wanted her to leave. In spite of everything that had gone before in what had been a stormy and at times difficult marriage she'd felt it necessary to play the part of the dutiful wife when he had returned injured from Afghanistan. She said she'd felt guilty about his volunteering to go on tour. She somehow supposed this was her fault. How the hell did she imagine that? He turned his head towards her.

"Rebecca, I'm tired. I need to rest." He said in as kind a voice as he could muster. His leg ached. He was feeling uncomfortable.

"Oh, well I'll try to pop in again the day after tomorrow…" she began.

He had to stop this.

"Please, don't feel you have to do this. You've been kind but it doesn't really change anything does it?"

He saw the hurt expression in her eyes that she quickly tried to hide.

"Well, what about Sam, you'd like me to bring him to see you, wouldn't you?"

He recognised the determined look on her face, using his son as an excuse. She meant to have her own way.

"My parents could bring him. I'd prefer it."

There was silence.

His leg was aching unbearably now. He'd need to call the nurse over at any minute.

He gritted his teeth,

"Rebecca, it's over. We agreed before I went on tour and nothing has changed."

Everything has changed his brain shouted back at him. Everything!

He couldn't face another argument. He'd put all that behind him in Afghanistan. All he'd wanted was to put some distance between himself and this situation. Molly had asked him if he was looking forward to returning and the thought had filled him with dread.

Rebecca rose and took her jacket from the back of the chair,

"If that's how you want it!" She stared at him for a full ten seconds as if expecting a denial.

"It is."

The finality of his words didn't escape her. She turned and left him without a backwards glance.

When the nurse returned ten minutes later to administer some pain relief she said conversationally,

"You had another visitor earlier when your wife was here. She said she'd come back later"

Captain James frowned, "She?"

"Yes, she didn't leave her name…um..a short girl with long dark hair. Do you know her?"

In the weeks since returning from Afghanistan, Molly had found it hard to adjust. The R & R had been bad enough but that had been temporary. She couldn't see an end to this feeling of frustration and inaction. The last few weeks at Bastion had been difficult beyond words. As soon as Captain James' condition had been stabilised he had been repatriated along with Smurf. The inquiries into the action at the check point had lasted days. Every member of the platoon had been questioned at length. Thankfully, no one beyond James, Smurf and Molly seemed to know what the argument had been about. The Captain couldn't speak, Smurf had remained tight lipped about the events and Molly kept the details as brief as the facts would allow. The last thing she wanted was to stir up any more trouble for any of them. Captain James was facing enough personal trauma and Smurf didn't need a whole heap of trouble raining down on him. Molly felt that she had messed things up for Smurf enough already and she just wanted to put everything behind her. Then to her surprise and discomfort she found herself being praised for her actions in not only saving the lives of Captain James and Smurf under heavy crossfire, but for taking out the Taliban insurgent, Bedrai. Given the guilt that was tormenting her, it seemed a cruel twist of fate to thrust her into the limelight. She didn't want thanks.

The text messages from Smurf had begun almost as soon as she'd touched down at Brize Norton.

_'We need to talk, Please call me.'_

_'I'm sorry, Molly, please call.'_

At first she'd tried to reply as kindly but distantly as possible until his repeated messages and her fear that there would be a resumption of the situation on tour drove her to sever all connection.

_'I can't do this anymore, Smurf. You're doing my nut in. Don't text me again. Sorry'_

It was cruel but necessary. She'd never get through this if he kept on reminding her of her mistakes. Never go back someone had once said to her. How did you get that message across to someone like Smurf?

Most of all she regretted not having the courage to return to the hospital. She'd been thrown by the sight of Captain James' wife. She was a reminder of everything that divided them. This wasn't a fairy tale. This was real life. What had she been thinking? How had she imagined that a girl like her could be part of his life? In Afghanistan it had seemed simple. They had a job to do. Everything had revolved around Two Section. She knew her role and she could hold her own in that world. But here, with all the messy domestic complications of everyday life, it was a different story. What if Captain James had patched things up with his wife? She'd been there at his bedside, after all. She wished she could take her courage in her hands and simply find him and ask him.

She'd only seen Captain James once very briefly in the hospital at Bastion a couple of days after the check point action. He'd been barely conscious, strapped up to monitors and IV's. She'd held his hand when no one else was around, squeezed it gently, willing him to open his eyes and see her but there had been no response. A couple of weeks after the unsuccessful hospital visit she'd called to check on him with half a mind to visit again but he'd been discharged. She didn't know where he was and she didn't know how to find him without resurrecting the whole sorry episode again or invoking awkward questions. He hadn't tried to contact her. Perhaps he regretted his mistake. Never go back. Her heart was heavy but she knew she had to try to move on.

The report from the medical board four months later wasn't good. He was unfit for active service. There would be no more tours. He'd escaped with his life and a permanent limp. He was a soldier through and through. He needed to be out there, active, engaged, enjoying the banter and cut and thrust of military life on the front line. They'd offered him a non-combative role but it wasn't for him. He needed to be doing something he considered useful.

He had realised at once that his unannounced visitor at the hospital had been Molly. His heart had leapt at the prospect of seeing her again now that she and the rest of Two Section had returned from Afghanistan. When she failed to return to the hospital the doubts crept into his mind. He'd made a critical mistake of judgment on tour. His actions had caused the emotional outburst from Smurf putting all their lives in danger. Ultimately, he'd paid the price in the loss of the military career he loved. His heart whispered to him that he had also lost the woman he loved.

"Any thoughts on what you might do if you leave the service?" His C.O. had asked him when James had reported to him after the medical board.

James gave him a wry smile,

"If you'd asked me that a year ago, frankly, I'd have been flummoxed."

"And now?" the C.O. enquired

"Well, Sir, as a matter of fact, I do have a few ideas. A little while ago someone taught me that if you want to improve the big picture you have to address the small things first. I think I might give that approach a go."

Brize Norton again. Another departure. Another step into the unknown but Molly had volunteered for this one.

"I must be a bleedin' glutton for punishment!" she muttered under her breath.

The same motley bunch of military personnel surrounded her in the departure area but amongst them were a large number of medics. She wasn't on her own this time.

A humanitarian disaster in central Africa: civil war, disrupted supply lines, thousands of starving men, women and children like Bashira needing food, medical care, support and safety. She was being deployed as part of a UN initiative to assist with the humanitarian relief effort. She was glad to go. Six months had passed since her return from Afghanistan and four months of training had helped to refocus her mind. Above all, she felt compelled to do something to make things better if only in a small way, something that would help to ease her sadness over everything that had happened in Afghanistan.

As soon as she stepped off the transport plane on the runway the heat and dust hit Molly. For some it was an alien environment, a challenge to their system, but to her it felt like a familiar friend. The convoy took two days to reach the disaster area. It had been a long, hot, uncomfortable journey much interrupted by poor roads, occasional skirmishes with armed fighters from one side or other of the conflict who seemed equally intent on holding up, disrupting or diverting the convoy to prevent their adversaries gaining any advantage. Their politics were lost on Molly. Part of her simply didn't want to engage her brain on the rights and wrongs of the conflict. She knew the dangers of getting involved. This time, she would concentrate on simply easing the suffering of those innocent people caught up in this futile strife.

The volunteer medics and troops had been tasked with setting up a relief centre for refugees fleeing across the border and told they would be liaising with civilian aid workers already on site. In spite of the briefings they had been given before departure, Molly was unprepared for the sight that met her when they arrived. She had once heard the term "Of Biblical Proportions" applied to the famine in East Africa during the 1980's. It had probably been something to do with Band Aid or Bob Geldof that they'd discussed at school on one of the infrequent occasions she had actually attended. She couldn't remember exactly where she had heard the term but for the first time in her life, she knew what it meant. There were people as far as the eye could see, people in need of shelter, food, medical care and comfort. She should have felt overwhelmed, but she didn't. She felt needed.

James had arrived four days ago. It had been a challenge of a very different kind to anything he had previously experienced. The two months of training in the UK had been good and had prepared him as fully as possible for what he would face here. However, the realities were different. Like most relief charity workers facing their first deployment overseas, he had initially been shocked by the level of distress he had encountered. Just how was he supposed to put this situation right? The answer he soon realised was by making one small step at a time. His military background and training, the reason that the charity had been so keen to recruit him, enabled him to organise personnel and supplies here on the ground effectively. It was a job of mammoth proportions but he was beginning to make headway. There was never enough time. His working hours were long, conditions were rough and ready, he was short of sleep, but for the first time since Afghanistan he truly felt he was doing something worthwhile.

"Charles, the convoy's arrived!" Simon, James' deputy, called though the open doorway of the concrete storeroom that served as an office and operations centre.

James strolled out into the heat; the sun was in his eyes. He raised his hand to shield his vision and saw five ten-ton trucks making their way along the rough and ready road through the centre of the camp. Children ran alongside the trucks, waving and trying to get the attention of the occupants. James exhaled deeply, shook his head in relief and at last smiled at the very welcome sight before him.

Molly jumped down from the back of the truck and reached for her Bergen and Med bag. She was immediately surrounded by eager, chattering, smiling children. She wished she had something to give them, but had to settle for simply smiling and nodding in response and high-fiving of few of them. Up ahead of the group were a small collection of single storey concrete buildings that appeared to be the hub of activity in the camp. They had been told that they would be setting up a medical facility here and it looked as if they had their work cut out.

Molly and the other army medics made their way forward. Their senior officer was some distance ahead of them near the buildings in discussion with two of the charity workers. It was almost midday, the sun was high in the sky and it was very hot. Molly leaned back against the front of the lead truck which offered a small amount of shade and sighed deeply. Her tiredness and the heat suddenly made her feel very weary. She glanced ahead of her towards her C.O. and the charity workers and in that instant her breath caught in her throat, her heart seemed to stop and, in spite of the heat, shivers ran down her spine.

James had been outlining the current situation at the camp and advising Lieutenant Colonel Williams of the facilities available. The officer had listened carefully and asked pertinent questions.

"OK, thanks for that. We'll start to move our equipment into that block over there and get organised as soon as possible." He concluded.

James looked over to the group of twenty medics a short distance away, some chatting, others standing quietly taking in the scenes before them. One of them was standing in the shade with her back to the lead truck. She was small, dark-haired, dressed like all the others but immediately familiar to him. She was staring at him, utterly transfixed.

Molly saw him gazing at her. She saw him take a deep breath, run his fingers through his hair, take a couple of paces towards her and then stop. He was still looking at her, questioning her. In that moment she knew with a certainty that she had only ever felt once before, back in the compound in Afghanistan, that she completely and unreservedly loved him.

Molly nodded her head, just once and very slightly but James knew immediately its meaning. In that instant every doubt he had ever entertained about her feelings for him disappeared. He walked slowly towards her. As he drew level with her he was rewarded by the sweetest smile of welcome.

"Hello, Boss!"

James smiled in return, and almost overcome said hesitantly,

"Molly, I can't tell you how wonderful it is to see you."

Molly gazed at him, her smile gradually changing to a cheeky grin.

"I guess there might be time in the next few weeks for you to tell me _exactly_ how wonderful it is!"

James laughed, shook his head almost in disbelief that she was actually here with him again. She was the same old Molly.

"Do you think you'll want to listen?" He asked.

She was silent and still for a moment or two as if seriously contemplating the question. James held his breath until he heard her giggle and saw the grin return as she replied,

"Perhaps!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for the kind reviews you encouraged me to try another Chapter. I hope you like it**.

Molly watched James walk away from her towards the Operations Centre. She recalled all those other occasions in Afghanistan when she had followed in his wake, trusting him and respecting his leadership but this time, with no concern for protocol he turned his head to look back at her, gave her a half-smile and wink.

Molly began to laugh just as Lieutenant Colonel Williams strode over to the group of medics, calling loudly,

"Listen up!"

The medics and support staff assembled before him.

"We need to unload our equipment and move everything into the two buildings over there."

He gestured towards two rectangular concrete buildings with tin roofs and narrow shaded verandas.

"These buildings will serve as our Med Centre for the foreseeable future."

He paused and regarded them all keenly.

"Make no mistake; we will have our work cut out here. This is going to be a difficult task but I know you are all equal to the challenge. The Med Centre needs to be operational by 18:00 hours. Speed is of the essence. I know I can rely on you all."

He nodded meaningfully at them and then took a step backwards to make way for Sergeant McCloud who immediately began to bark instructions and directions at everyone.

Molly listened to everything that was being said, trying to focus on the important details but her emotions were in turmoil. She was overjoyed and yet apprehensive at the same time. Out of the corner of her eye she could still see James standing near the Operations Centre, in that familiar relaxed manner, hands on hips, staring intently at her. She could feel the warmth of that gaze even from a distance of fifty yards. She couldn't help smiling to herself.

"Something amusing you, Dawes?"

Sergeant McCloud broke into her thoughts. A feeling of Déjà vu overcame her. However, one glance at the slightly balding, sandy haired, thickset man before her who appeared to have just the hint of a boxer's nose, very quickly dispelled any comparisons with that other occasion when she had smiled inappropriately.

"No Sergeant. Just looking forward to the task!"

Sergeant McCloud regarded her suspiciously for a few seconds, unsure whether to believe her. However, the neutral tone of Molly's reply, combined with the oppressive heat of midday that made standing here a minute longer than necessary undesirable, persuaded him not to take the point any further. He returned to delivering his list of instructions in a broad Glaswegian accent and Molly silently told herself to 'get a grip!'

James watching from a distance was still in shock at seeing Molly again. His common sense told him that he should have realised it was a possibility that she would deploy to Africa on this mission. However, that she should turn up here when she could have been sent anywhere, was telling him something more. Fate or fluke? He smiled to himself at the thought. Most definitely fate this time. Lady Luck was smiling on him again.

He saw the group of medics begin to break up and move purposefully in varying directions in accordance with the rather loud Scottish Sergeant's directions. Molly was walking with the two others towards the lead truck. Would she look towards him? James heard Simon call to him from inside the building but couldn't tear himself away.

"Just a minute!" He responded, waiting there willing her to look his way. He was rewarded; her head turned in his direction and he saw that broad open smile again, the one that was reserved only for him.

Four hours later Molly sat down heavily on the step of the veranda outside the newly established Med Centre next to fellow medic, Lisa Morgan.

"God, I'm proper fragged! It's so bleedin' hot!" she wiped her brow with the back of her hand.

Lisa, a pleasant, likeable girl from Birmingham looked at Molly in surprise.

"You were in Afghan weren't you? It must have been hot out there."

Molly raised her eyebrows, "Yeah, it was hot alright."

She remembered the struggle of trying to acclimatise to the conditions back at Bastion and the training run when Captain James had accused her of being the only medic afraid of the sight of blood. It was strange how it brought a smile to her face now in stark contrast to the humiliation she had felt at the time.

She turned to look at Lisa.

"It was a lot of other things besides, but this is a whole different ball bag!" Adding silently to herself, 'in more ways than one'.

The Med Centre was operational ahead of schedule. By 17:30 hours the first patients were filing though the doors. Several medical teams of doctors and civilian nurses had been deployed by charities to work within the Med Centre and the first group had arrived a couple of hours ago thanks to James finding the transport to move them here. The army medics were tasked with supporting the civilian teams, undertaking nursing and orderly duties, providing triage for new arrivals and basic first aid where appropriate. It soon became apparent from the steady stream of patients through the Med Centre doors that the medics would be facing a relentless workload. The teams were organised into shifts and Molly found herself rostered on duty this first day until midnight

The daily arrival of new refugees, some injured, others elderly or ill, new-born babies needing special care and malnourished children in danger of dying from starvation, was a constant drain on the resources available in the camp but one that had to be met. James was putting all his efforts into getting supplies of food, fresh drinking water and shelter for the thousands already here and those he knew that were yet to arrive. The arrival of the medical teams and army medics had been a huge relief. To have dedicated, specialist teams to deal with at least one aspect of the care that was needed, would free him to concentrate on the logistics of keeping the equivalent population of a small town alive.

By the time Molly was relieved from duty and able to make her way back to her quarters, tents that had been erected a short distance from the Med Centre, she was well and truly exhausted but she knew she was happy and she knew she had purpose at last.

The medic's quarters were in darkness. The night air was cooler, a relief after the intense heat of the day and she enjoyed just standing still for a moment and gazing upwards at the stars shining so brightly in the dark sky. She loved stars. They represented a different world, one of vast proportions and possibilities. She'd never really looked at stars before Afghanistan. In the East London of Molly's childhood, the stars were seldom visible.

"Not using the roof of the shitter this time, then?"

Molly jumped and swung around at the sound of James voice behind her. He was sitting on an upturned metal drum at the right-hand side of the tent.

"How long have you been there?" Molly responded flustered by his presence and the fact that she couldn't clearly see his face.

"Not long." He assured her. "I found out you were on duty until midnight, so I thought I'd wait for you." His voice was quiet.

Molly remained where she was standing.

"There's room for another here." She heard the sound of him patting another metal drum. She strolled over and, finding the drum next to his, sat down.

"Tired?" he asked.

"Worse than Afghan, if I'm honest." Molly agreed.

They sat together in companionable silence looking up at the night sky and lost in their own thoughts. Each of them knew that they loved the other but so much time had passed since that last moment of intimacy in the compound in Afghanistan. They were both searching for a way back.

At long last James turned towards her and asked

"Why didn't you come back to the hospital?"

Molly was taken aback, "You knew, I'd been there?"

Even in the darkness she heard the smirk in his voice, "Well, I don't know any other short, dark haired women who are likely to visit me when I'm on my sick bed."

Molly sighed, "I don't know. When I saw you there in the hospital it just seemed like a whole different world. Everything was so different from Afghan."

"You saw Rebecca there." James said matter of factly.

"Yes." What else could Molly say? One look at Rebecca had almost destroyed every ounce of confidence she had gained in the previous six months. She had seen herself through Rebecca's eyes and thought how ill qualified she was to be with this man. For the first time since seeing James this morning and the elation of realising he still loved her, Molly felt a small knot of anxiety developing in the pit of her stomach.

"I didn't want her there." James said. "It took a lot of bloody effort to get her to leave me alone."

Molly couldn't tell if he was joking. She needed to see him clearly and reached into her tunic pocket to pull out a small pen torch. She switched it on and turned it towards him, illuminating his face. He was looking directly at her; there was no smile on his lips.

"So, you're not…." Molly didn't know how to end the question.

"Back with her?" James supplied and then said immediately in answer, "No way. That was never going to happen. Not after Afghan."

She felt his hand reach for hers. He grasped her fingers, lightly intertwining them with his own, his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand. Molly turned off the torch and they sat in darkness and silence for a minute or two. More than anything else in the world, James wanted to pull her towards him, hold her close and kiss her but he sensed that something was still unresolved. At last, Molly spoke.

"Why didn't you contact me?"

She recalled the months of unhappiness and torment that she had experienced after the return from tour. If he had still loved her and wanted to be with her, then why hadn't he contacted her?

"I had doubts about myself and everything I'd done."

He paused and drew breath unevenly, "I was responsible for _everything_ that went wrong. I was the officer and…I messed up Molly."

She heard his voice break with emotion at the final words and couldn't bear it. She reached towards him and instinctively he pulled her over to him until she was sitting on his lap with his arms around her waist. She raised her hands to his face and cupping it gently between her palms lowered her forehead to rest against his. He remembered when he had comforted her thus and now she was here reciprocating. He didn't need to say anything more. She lifted her head and leaned towards him. He raised his lips to meet hers and they gently kissed. She understood.


	3. Chapter 3

In the days that followed Molly's arrival at the Camp a pattern began to develop. When Molly was rostered to finish late, James would try to wait for her in what they now called 'the usual place'. Molly referred to these meetings as her Astronomy lessons.

"Another subject I didn't pass, " She remarked the first time James had referred to Astronomy on the second evening after her arrival. He remembered their previous conversations regarding her lack of education and had laughed in response and said,

"This type of Astronomy is definitely not on the National Curriculum!"

Molly frowned and pulled a face,

"I suppose it's one of your euphemisms!" His eyes widened in mock surprise at her use of the word 'euphemism'.

"Yeah, I _do _know what it means!" she countered.

He didn't try to argue. He merely smiled to himself and kissed her.

When Molly was on early shifts she tried to call in at the Operations Centre before reporting for duty, just to grab a few precious minutes with James before the demands of their jobs reclaimed them for many long hours.

In Afghanistan, in the weeks that followed the distressing events that had claimed the life of Sohail, Captain James and Molly had agreed to 'wait out'. The situation at Bastion and army regulations had demanded that they keep a distance from each other, even if their mutual attraction was undeniable. Molly had struggled to manage her feelings in those weeks and had found herself constantly looking for any small outward reassurance that Captain James' affections were unchanged. Looking back, she knew that he had done his level best to keep their relationship professional. The times when she had sensed he was being distant and worried about its implications were the times that he was trying to protect both of them.

Ironically, here in Africa, in this nightmarish situation, where suffering on so many levels was ever present, Molly and James were no longer restrained by the dictates of military regulations. Molly accepted however, that she needed to remain professional and do her job and James expected nothing less of either of them. But there was also a natural restraint for which neither of them needed to apologise. They both knew that no matter how strongly they felt, here and now was not the time for a passionate affair. It was enough to know that they loved each other, could openly admit their feelings and had an opportunity to spend time together, however briefly. It was unsaid but mutually understood that for now they must continue to 'wait out'.

James liked to get a head start on the day and was always up and about at the crack of dawn and sometimes long before then. Army habits were hard to break. He was still a light sleeper and often woke suddenly, startled by the sound of vehicles or loud voices. His work was never ending and sometimes he felt guilty for breaking off from everything for a few hours to catch some sleep on the camp bed in a small side room that had once been a storage area. The conditions didn't bother him; whatever he was facing, he knew that thousands of others faced worse. He shared his sleeping quarters with his deputy, Simon Masters, but as they were seldom resting at the same time, he didn't find the lack of privacy bothersome. No matter how many hours he worked, he knew the value of rest and recognised that to give his best in this job he needed to give himself every opportunity to perform at his best and that most definitely included sleep.

James had established a regular work routine which consisted of organising the transport rotas, carrying out a daily inspection of the camp to check on conditions and get feedback from the other field workers, updating himself on the numbers of new arrivals, checking in on the Med Centre, liaising with other aid agencies, stocktaking supplies and trying to make projections for future requirements so that the camp could keep operating as effectively as possible. At the best of times, it was an inexact science, greatly disrupted by the unpredictable flow of refugees into the camp.

After his first seven days on site there had been a sudden lull in new arrivals. For the next two days it had seemed as if the camp population had stabilised, but a fresh wave of fighting in a region fifty miles away over the border had caused an exodus from the surrounding area and the numbers rose rapidly again, severely impacting on conditions for everyone within the camp. It was a testing time for all of them.

As a father accustomed to being able to provide everything his son needed, James found the sight of starving, distressed children the hardest thing to deal with. It was both heart breaking and intolerable to see such suffering and know that it was largely man-made. At moments like these he appreciated most fully how Molly had felt in Afghanistan, seeing the enormity of the problems but feeling like a tiny cog in a futile machine that manufactured nothing but trouble. Being here had made him appreciate why Molly had needed to befriend Bashira and why she hadn't been able to just walk away and leave her to her fate. She had needed to do something to make the situation right, if only for one person. Now, when he saw the scale of problems here and feelings of helplessness threatened to encroach on his ability to function, he told himself sternly 'today I will make something right for someone'.

Early one morning, about a week after her arrival, Molly opened the door of the Operations Centre to find only Simon Masters sitting in the office. He was younger than James by three or four years and there couldn't have been a more marked difference in their appearance. He was barely five feet seven inches tall, fair haired and of stocky build, with a youthful, cherubic face that wouldn't have looked out of place in a cathedral choir. He knew that people judged him too often by his appearance, thinking he would be a soft touch, easily ignored, but like many others, James had discovered very quickly that Simon's innocent exterior masked a will of iron. He was dogged, purposeful and determined and James, knowing that he could fully rely on Simon, liked him very much.

Molly's first impression was that Simon had dozed off in a chair as, at the sound of the door opening, his head snapped upwards a little too briskly and he shook himself as if trying to bring life back into his limbs. Turning to Molly he greeted her brightly and then looked enquiringly at her.

"I was looking for…." She paused unsure what to call him.

"Charles?" Simon asked.

Molly's eyes widened. Inexplicably, she wanted to laugh. It was stupid she knew, but she'd never heard James called 'Charles' before. She still called him 'Boss' and he seemed to accept it as a term of endearment.

Simon looked at her quizzically but she recovered her composure enough to reply,

"Yes. Have I missed him?"

"He was called out, early." Simon supplied by way of explanation. "There's some trouble with a supply truck in a village about 20 kilometres from here just over the border. He's gone down there with an escort to try to sort it out. He's good at that sort of stuff. We need the supplies here as soon as possible."

"Something important on board?" Molly enquired.

"What isn't important here?" Molly knew that Simon wasn't being critical but she appreciated her mistake and shook her head.

"Sorry, that was a bit of dumb question."

"Water purifying tablets, disinfectant, malaria tablets, medical supplies, you name it!" Simon explained.

Molly nodded.

Simon rose from the chair, yawned and stretched. He _was_ asleep Molly decided but was then surprised as he suddenly changed tack and said.

"You served in Afghanistan with Charles, didn't you?"

The use of 'Charles' almost made her giggle again.

"Yes, we did one tour together." She confirmed.

"He said you saved his life." Simon looked levelly at her.

Molly felt embarrassed, "I was just doing my job, same as here."

"Well, you did us all a good job. He may be the army's loss but he's definitely our gain. He's first class at this. These local squabbles are a real nuisance and need a diplomatic approach. For some reason I never seem to be taken seriously, unlike Charles. "

Molly glowed with a sense of pride that she had never felt before. She was proud _of_ him and _for_ him. She was proud of the person he was and more than anything she was proud that he was hers.

James had left the Camp before dawn with his UN escort, two soldiers from the Royal Netherlands Army, Luuk and Max and also an interpreter, Mermoz. This was the second time since his arrival in Africa that James had been called to this part of the region for the purposes of releasing supplies from local control. The first time they had smoothed the way over some access difficulties caused by local tribal rivalries and managed to bring their supply trucks through. However, the report they had received early this morning suggested that the truck driver had been detained and the truck and its supplies, so desperately needed, appeared to have disappeared. He sensed, that all his powers of negotiation might be needed and hoped that he would be able to meet the challenge.

James chatted comfortably with Luuk and Max on the journey up country over a series of rough, dry, potholed tracks. They found they had much in common having all previously served in Afghanistan. No matter what their nationality, soldiers seemed to share the same sense of humour and the jokes flowed back and forth. James felt at ease in their company and enjoyed the feeling of camaraderie that he had missed since leaving the army.

From time to time Mermoz, a young man of twenty two who had spent some time studying in London, joined in with the conversation but mostly he contented himself with looking out of the window and staying quiet. James thought briefly of Qaseem. He knew that Qaseem and Molly had been close and that she was still in contact with him. She had told him that Qaseem was trying to find Bashira and that she was intending to give Bashira her deployment money. Although he had to admit to some unease about this plan, he knew this was part of Molly's unfinished business with the events that had transpired in Afghanistan and with his new found understanding he respected her decision.

When they finally arrived at the village after an overlong and uncomfortable journey they found that the place appeared to be deserted. Everything in James' experience told him to be cautious.

"I don't like the look of this." He observed. "It's too quiet!"

Luuk and Max got out of the vehicle, keeping their weapons to hand although their role here was purely protection and they knew they had no mandate to open fire unless in self-defence. James waited in the vehicle in accordance with his instructions. He wore a flak jacket and had been provided with a helmet for use if it was required. As much as he was itching to get out of the car and reconnoitre the area, he accepted, albeit with a degree of frustration, that this was no longer his role. He had other responsibilities to other people and must allow the Dutch soldiers to do their job.

Eventually a village Elder appeared from one of the buildings. James recognised him from his previous visit to the village. He got out of the car and strolled towards the man smiling at him and nodding in greeting. Mermoz followed him and conversation began.

"Ask him where our driver and supply truck are?" James instructed.

Mermoz relayed the message and then replied to James.

"He says they were taken by soldiers, last night. He doesn't know where they are."

"Can anyone else help?" James asked.

The reply came back, "Some of the younger members of the village have met with the soldiers. They may know where they have taken them, but they are not here and will not be back for many hours."

James sighed; he suspected that this was going to take longer to resolve than his previous visit. He turned to Luuk and Max and relayed the message.

"Better make ourselves comfortable!" Luuk commented.

He and Max conversed briefly in Dutch. James didn't know what they were saying. He had a fairly good grasp of French and had picked up some German on a six month posting a few years ago, but Dutch was not part of his skillset.

"Can you ask the Elder if there is somewhere we can wait?" Max called over to James

The message was relayed. The Elder seemed visibly nervous at this request and James had the distinct impression that he was not being honest in his reply.

Mermoz relayed the response to James,

"He says there is nowhere. He doesn't want us to stay here."

James frowned. Their previous exchanges had been cordial. There had been no suggestion before that they were unwelcome. The previous difficulties had not been of their making and despite some initial misunderstandings they had resolved the problem in an amicable manner.

James was suspicious. He nodded at the Elder indicating his acceptance and was just about to make his way over to Luuk and Max when he caught sight of some movement in his right peripheral vision. His instincts told him they were in an unsafe situation. He stood still, maintaining a relaxed stance with his hands on his hips. He had no wish to cause any further anxiety to the Elder or anyone else who might be keeping them under surveillance. With a sideways nod of the head James gestured to Luuk and Max that they should come over to him. He needed to appraise them of the situation. He was sure that something was going down here and realised that they should extricate themselves as soon as possible.

As Luuk and Max drew level with James and Mermoz they were startled by the sound of gunfire. All four of them instinctively threw themselves onto the ground, momentarily disorientated and unaware of the direction from which the shots had been fired. Raising his head a fraction, James saw that the gunfire came from rifles in the hands of a group of militia who had emerged from one of the buildings on the right hand side of the street. It was being directed over their heads and was probably only intended to be a warning.

As the militia reached James and his party who were all still lying motionless on the ground, they began to shout and gesture wildly towards them.

Mermoz called out in English to the other three,

"They want us to throw the weapons over there, get up and raise our hands over our heads!"

James instantly assessing the situation, realised that there was nothing else to be done. They would have to talk their way out of this predicament.

"Do it!" He shouted to everyone.

Max and Luuk threw their weapons to one side and slowly the four men got up, all of them plastered from head toe in red-brown dust. As they straightened up to take their first proper look at the militia they found themselves staring directly down the barrels of three AK-47's.


	4. Chapter 4

Molly had been disappointed not to see James this morning. Although, there was seldom time for more than a quick catch up on what they had been doing in the intervening period or what the day was likely to hold, she valued the time to connect with him. Just to be able to share a funny story, reminisce about some of the happier times they had spent on tour or share news from home, made her feel truly part of his life. He liked to hear about her family, the scrapes her brothers and sisters got into at school or how her mum was getting on with her teaching assistant training course. In turn she learned about his parents and family, his friends and his childhood in Bath. Although, Molly realised they had previously inhabited very different social worlds, through moments such as these they were building a new relationship on equal terms.

Molly's work in the Med Centre was never less than arduous and often distressing. She was beginning to learn to distance herself from some of the sights and sounds that she encountered. She knew that she couldn't take every case to heart or she would break down. She often saw badly injured people arrive at the Centre who had been travelling for days without proper care and often without food or little or no water. Not only were they suffering from the initial injuries, but also dehydration and secondary infections that sapped what little strength they had left to survive. Sometimes she knew, even from a first glance, that they wouldn't live.

She was often on duty helping the medical teams to triage the new arrivals. She had seen severe life threatening injuries in Afghanistan but the contrast between the care that had been available to those soldiers with rapid medevac to Bastion and the state-of-the-art trauma centre there, was in stark contrast to the facilities available here. The medical teams, all volunteer doctors and nurses from all over the world, gave their time and skill and made the best use of everything available to them, often improvising equipment when nothing suitable existed, but they were overstretched and sometimes overwhelmed.

The Medics kept the facilities operating as efficiently as possible. As well as assisting with triage and providing basic nursing care and first aid, Molly spent a lot of her time carrying out some of the most unpleasant jobs: scrubbing, cleaning, disinfecting, and trying to prevent the spread of virus, disease and cross infection. It was a never ending job. For Molly, this was a very different role to the one for which she had initially trained, but like every other medic here she had volunteered and accepted whatever she was asked to do.

The shifts were long, often as much as ten hours and at the moment they were short staffed as some of the medics had fallen ill with a virus. Those still fit for duty were being asked to extend their hours and having come on duty at six o'clock this morning, Molly doubted she would be able to catch any sleep before ten o'clock that evening and with nothing more than a few short breaks in the course of the day.

Molly was taking a break at the back of the Med Centre, sitting on a wooden crate in the shade when Lisa Morgan rounded the corner, a cigarette and lighter in her hand. She grinned sheepishly at Molly.

"Caught red-handed!" she said indicating the cigarette.

"I didn't know you smoked!" Molly replied.

"Yeah, filthy habit, I know and me a medic in the army. I _am_ trying to give up!" she said pleadingly, "But, this place, you know, sometimes I just need one so badly!"

Molly silently acknowledged the truth of Lisa's words. Some of the sights that came through their doors were hard to erase from your mind she couldn't begrudge Lisa the odd cigarette if that was her way of coping.

Lisa lit up, took a long drag and exhaled the smoke.

"So, what's the story with you and _Mr_ James" she asked conversationally.

Molly was momentarily nonplussed.

"What do you mean?" she replied rather lamely, realising that she sounded unconvincing.

Lisa gave her a wry smile.

"You might fool those two numptys in there," she nodded her head in the direction of the building and Molly realised she was referring to Mike and Tony, the male medics on their duty roster,

"But you're talking to another woman here." She looked directly and meaningfully at Molly and Molly was reminded of Jackie at Bastion. Total denial was obviously going to be futile.

"We knew each other in Afghan." She admitted.

"Knew?" the question shot back at Molly.

"OK. He was my Captain." She dared to look Lisa in the eye.

Lisa burst out laughing,

"You're not telling me that in Afghan you were…" she trailed off trying to find the right words and seeing Molly starting to shake her head, added quickly, "Not that it's unheard of!"

"No…well, nothing like _that_." Molly said feeling uncomfortable about the discussion and equally unsure how to describe their relationship in Afghanistan.

"We were close, but nothing really happened. It's been complicated."

Lisa could see that this was no joke to Molly and decided not to rib her about it any further. Changing the subject slightly she said,

"I heard he got injured in Afghan, that's why he's doing this job here."

"Yeah," Molly confirmed, "A mission went 'tits up'."

Molly stood up ready to return to her duties when Lisa said,

"I'm not saying that you're doing anything wrong, Mols, but don't let McCloud catch you. I don't think he'd like it very much."

Molly knew that she was probably right.

It was mid-afternoon and Molly had been listening out all day for any transport coming into the camp, but there had been nothing of any significance, certainly not a ten ton truck loaded with essential medical supplies and accompanied by James. She would have known if he had returned, in any case as he always called into the Med Centre to catch up with Dr Garcia, the senior member of the medical team. When Simon Masters appeared and asked for Dr Garcia he passed Molly on his way through the ward. She looked up, catching his eye.

"Any news on the truck?" she asked.

He paused and gave her a long look before replying,

"There's been a bit of a problem, I'm on my way to update Dr Garcia about the state of the Med supplies you need and then I'm heading out to the Relief Command Centre." It didn't sound routine to Molly and she thought she sensed some tension in his voice.

"Something serious?" she was afraid of hearing the response but she needed to know.

Simon nodded,

"Possibly!"

He knew he shouldn't really say anything but he was also aware that there was a relationship of some kind between Molly and James. He lowered his voice,

"Keep it to yourself, but we've had word through official channels that the missing truck is being held to ransom by some local militia and that it now includes the personnel deployed to recover it."

Molly paled at the news and Simon felt desperately sorry for her but there was nothing else he could do. Molly asked nothing further and simply said quietly,

"Thanks for letting me know."

Eight hours after the heart-pumping moment of finding himself facing down the barrel of a gun, James was beginning to feel frustrated and increasingly annoyed. He, Luuk, Max and Mermoz had been herded into one of the houses in the village only to find their missing truck driver, sitting on the floor there, bemused and perplexed by the events. It was clear that the militia meant to detain them, although beyond the initial show of bravado, firing their rifles to attract attention, they didn't appear to be particularly hostile to their captives. An armed guard remained on duty in the doorway of the house, although most of the time his rifle was slung casually over one shoulder and he was engaged in conversation with others outside.

James had admitted to himself that in those first moments of being under fire he had experienced a flashback to events on the bridge. He had moved instinctively under fire, but it was only a little later, sitting in the relative calm of the house, after it became apparent that there was no real antagonism towards them, that he realised it had unsettled him more than he expected. He was thinking of more than just himself, now. Even when he was married, he realised he had never thought about the other people in his life as much as he should. He had always believed in putting his duty first. It had helped to make him a good soldier, but the events of this morning had shown him that he could no longer take that stance. Whatever he did and wherever he was, he would always think of Molly and Sam first and foremost and taking unnecessary risks would never be part of his plans.

Mermoz had kept them informed of the flow of the conversation and they soon realised that they had walked into a ransom scenario where the contents of the truck were to be offered in exchange for weapons and ammunition.

"That's just not going to happen." James remarked to the others.

"I've seen this on other occasions," Luuk interjected. "Usually, they find some kind of compromise."

James hoped he was right. He assumed that by now, Simon would have raised the alarm about their failure to return and something would be organised. His thoughts drifted to Molly again. He hadn't seen her this morning or later in the day at the Med Centre. She probably would have heard about this situation and he knew she would worry.

Simon Masters had arrived at the Relief Command Centre in the late afternoon. He found that the militia group in question were well known for carrying out random hijackings of relief vehicles, each time attempting to exhort a ransom in the form of weapons or money. As a rule, no one was usually hurt in these incidents and often the vehicle was released for something less than the original demand.

Simon looked in disbelief at the other members of the meeting,

"You're not telling me that you actually give in to these groups?"

The chief officer, a veteran of humanitarian relief programmes throughout the world, looked over at him,

"Let's just say, it depends upon how much we need the supplies. How much do you need the contents of that truck?"

Simon replied in an instant, "Desperately, but I need the return of my boss, more."

"Well," the Chief replied, "Then let's see what else we have that they might want."

The hours passed and darkness fell. There was little activity outside. The guard had been changed and replaced with another lad who looked to be no more than sixteen or seventeen years of age but was equally bored with the task he had been given. Mermoz engaged him in conversation and they soon learned that he had joined the militia because it was the only way to secure food for his family. James felt that it might be possible to work on this lad and possibly persuade him to let them leave, but his conscience wouldn't allow him to take an unnecessary risk and he had to admit that he felt sorry for his captor. He wasn't a trained soldier, just a lad driven to desperate circumstances.

Conversation had lagged. In the darkness Luuk and Max had dozed off and Mermoz was conversing quietly with the truck driver. James sat in silence, thinking of Molly, recalling happier times at the FOB in Afghanistan. He smiled at the memory of her winning the obstacle race, Two Section running to congratulate her and hoisting her onto their shoulders as she sported a fetching pair of Minnie Mouse ears. He started thinking about the moment he had happened upon her in the Med Tent, dressed only in a skimpy vest and shorts, getting ready to go on R&R. He'd almost made a prize fool of himself, taken aback and gawping at her. However, his request for coffee capsules and the moments that followed were some of the sweetest in his memory. He'd just wanted any excuse to talk to her alone before she left. He didn't even like Rosabya!

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of vehicles approaching. He leant forward in the darkness and nudged Luuk and Max awake.

"Someone's coming, I can hear vehicles."

The engine sounds drew nearer and eventually pulled up outside. The guard's attention was drawn to the new arrivals. James stood up and moved to the window. Outside was a heavy truck, a jeep and a small unit of UN troops. In the light of the headlamps, James could just distinguish the unmistakeable figure of Simon Masters.


	5. Chapter 5

Molly had stayed on duty long after her rostered time had finished. She said she was happy to cover for her sick colleagues, and she was, yet she knew that she would not be able to rest or sleep if she went off duty. She knew she needed to keep busy. She couldn't let herself dwell on what might be happening up country. She had almost lost James in Afghanistan. She recalled so clearly Smurf telling her in the hospital at Bastion that James had 'died' on the MERT and had to be resuscitated twice. She had lived in silent anguish for a couple of weeks after his repatriation still believing he might die at any moment. When the news had finally reached them that he would pull through, she had gone to the female latrines, the only place that had a door with a lock, sat on the toilet and wept. She couldn't believe that fate could really be so cruel as to reunite them here, give them a second chance and then snatch it from them all over again.

Sergeant McCloud watched Molly doing the rounds, tirelessly repeating the same mundane tasks over and over. He consulted his roster. She'd been on duty now for sixteen hours. She could have gone off earlier. They were short-staffed but it was always a little quieter at night. He called her over to him. As she stood before him he saw that she was pale and bleary eyed.

"Go off duty now, Dawes."

She opened her mouth to protest but he silenced it.

"That's an order. You look 'done in'. You won't be fit for duty tomorrow if you don't rest now. And eat something!"

There was no arguing with a direct order.

"Yes, Sergeant."

She reluctantly made her way out of the building and over to the female quarters. McCloud watched her walk away, heavy legged, clearly exhausted and wondered why she didn't have the sense to admit that she was dead on her feet.

"A penny for them!"

Amy Salthouse, one of the civilian nurses, came up to McCloud.

"You seem a million miles away, Stewart."

"Yes, I think I was," he replied.

"I was Just wondering why a bright medic like, Dawes, is trying to work herself into the ground."

Amy put her head on one side as if considering this idea.

"Maybe she's worried about Charles James. I think they're friends."

Molly was still lying awake on her bed in the female medic quarters when, two hours later, Lisa opened the tent flap rather noisily and made her way inside. She clattered into a bag on the floor and sent something flying. The sound of many small objects scattering all over the boarded floor could be heard.

"Bugger, that's my jar of M&M's" she exclaimed in annoyance.

Molly would normally have laughed, but she was too lost in her own worries and concerns.

"You awake, Mols?" Lisa whispered.

Molly sighed loudly,

"Well, I am now!" She said grumpily and rather unfairly in the circumstances.

"Just thought you'd like to know. James is back with the truck. It seems that Masters played a blinder and got them back."

Molly sat bolt upright and swung her legs over the side of her bed to the floor. She was searching for her trainers that she'd left nearby.

"When?"

Lisa laughed,

"That got your attention, then! They got back about half an hour ago."

Lisa switched on her torch and shone it on Molly, picking out her navy shorts and West Ham football shirt.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Got to pay a visit!" Molly replied trying to keep the elation out of her voice.

Molly wasn't sure if Lisa believed her but when she saw her flop onto her bed and say,

"Do one for me while you're there, will you, I'm too fragged to bother going," she decided she might be in luck. As she made her way out of the tent she heard Lisa pretending to snore and giggled to herself.

Molly made her way to the Operations Centre using a circuitous route avoiding some of the floodlit areas. When she arrived she saw that the door was partially open and a dim light showed from within. She peered in cautiously but the office was empty. In the light cast by a desk lamp, she saw James' flak jacket hanging over the back of a chair and his emergency kitbag lying on the desk. She stepped into the room and feeling self-conscious called out in a quiet voice,

"Boss!"

There was no reply but she noticed that the door to the sleeping quarters was half open. She gingerly walked across the office and peered around the door.

The sight before her made her draw breath and gaze in silence. She smiled to herself in sheer joy and relief.

James was lying on the bed fast asleep, fully clothed, still wearing his boots. His hair was tousled and a little dusty and he was sporting a day and a half's stubble but sleep had removed the lines of tension on his face. Looking at him Molly glimpsed the boy there had once been. At that moment she felt strangely protective towards him. She knew she ought to leave and close the door but she couldn't help herself. She crept into the room and knelt beside him. She couldn't resist just reaching out to move a few strands of hair back from his forehead. He stirred, shaking his head a little as if trying to disturb a fly.

"Charles!" Molly whispered, a mischievous smile hovering on her lips.

He blearily opened his eyes, trying to focus in the half-light. When he spoke his voice sounded hoarse and dry.

"Molly?"

She bent over him and kissed him on the forehead. He put his hand out to her and stroked her long dark hair, hanging loosely around her shoulders.

"You called me Charles!" he remarked in bewilderment.

"Don't worry, I won't make a habit of it." Molly joked.

"I like it." He said in all seriousness.

Molly sighed in a mock gesture of resignation,

"OK ,Charles it is, then!"

His eyes were fully focussed now and he took in the appealing sight of her out of uniform for once. He remembered another time in Afghanistan when she had been wearing that shirt and they had shared a moment. Yes, he had to conclude, he had definitely fallen for her charm and magnetism.

Charles looked directly into her eyes and with only the tiniest hint of pleading in his voice said quietly,

"Lie down with me, just for minute."

She returned his gaze. She couldn't resist or deny him. She carefully sat on the edge of the bed and as he moved over a little to make room for her in the narrow space, she swung her legs up onto the bed and lay down on her side resting her head on his chest and feeling him breathe slowly in and out. He placed his right arm around her waist to hold her close and reaching over with his left arm completely encircled her. He kissed the top of her head and gently caressed the bare skin of her upper arm. They said nothing for a long while, being happy to just remain like this.

After a long while, Molly whispered,

"Are you alright?"

There was a pause, as if he was gathering his thoughts.

"I think so. It was the first time I'd been under fire since Afghan….since _that_ moment."

He didn't need to explain further.

"You coped." Molly said.

"Yes, I coped."

Molly lifted her head from his chest so that she could tilt her chin upwards to look at him. He was staring at the ceiling but feeling her stirring he moved his head to look down at her. She gave him that beautiful smile the one that was 'his' and he pulled her close to him, holding her in a tight embrace. The kiss that followed was long and deep, releasing both of them from the fears they had suffered that day. Neither of them wanted it to end. When they reluctantly broke apart, Charles said to her,

"Have I ever told you that I love you?"

"Not like that!" she replied.

He spoke gently and with great sincerity as he said,

"I love you!"

Molly drew breath and replied,

"Ditto!"

Simon Masters crossed the office slowly. He was dog tired and needed some rest. He had advised Charles to get some sleep, joking that he could take the early shift tomorrow. Simon had been helping with the off- loading of the truck and had overseen the secure storage of the supplies. It was now after two in the morning and he had been up since first light. It had been a long day, but he reasoned that he hadn't been on the receiving end of any threats. In the end, the militia had given way over the truck and their personnel for a relatively small quantity of foodstuffs and the promise of some medical care being provided for some of the villages in the area. He had been assured that they seldom held out for the weapons that were never provided. He was loathe to give them anything but had to settle for the slightly patronising advice he was given that this was the way of the world.

He saw that the door to the sleeping quarters was half ajar and was about to push it fully open when his attention was caught by the sight of Charles lying fully clothed on his camp bed fast asleep with Molly, incongruously wearing a West Ham football shirt, enfolded in his arms. In spite of his tiredness and overwhelming desire to hit the sack, he was touched by the scene. He silently stepped back and quietly pulled the door to. As he did so, he whispered under his breath.

"So that's how the land lies."

The daylight creeping through a crack in the shutters of the window, shining onto Molly's face woke her from her sleep. She was still lying in Charles' arms. She had only intended to stay with him for a little while but it was now dawn. She carefully, unwound his arm from her waist and tried to raise herself on the bed without making a noise. Catching sight of a clock on the small bedside table, she started. It was six twenty and she had been due on duty at six o'clock. As she swung her legs around to the floor, Charles stirred and opened his eyes.

"Morning!" he said sleepily

"Morning, 'Charles'." However late she was, she _had_ to use his name, because it still amused her.

"I've got to go." She said urgently. "I'm late for duty and I'm going to get a bollocking!"

He nodded, "Go!" then added with a cheeky glint in his eye, "But not before I've done this!"

With lightning fast speed he grabbed her around the waist pulled her down on top of him and kissed her fiercely before just as quickly releasing her.

"Go!" He repeated with a sideways nod of the head.

She didn't try to reply. She just shot him a look of mock exasperation to which he responded with a smirk. She hastily pulled on her trainers and left the room.

Thankfully there was no one in the main office so Molly exited the building and tried to make her way back to her quarters to change without drawing any attention to herself. She had almost reached the tent when she was stopped dead in her tracks by the sound of her name being bellowed in a strong Glaswegian accent.

"Dawes!"

Her heart sank. Spinning around she saw Sergeant McCloud standing twenty feet away. He marched up to her.

"Would you care to tell me where you've been and why you aren't on duty, _in_ uniform?"

Molly was almost rendered speechless. This was a disaster.

"It's….not…how it looks…" she began hesitantly and trailed off.

McCloud raised his eyebrows heavenwards.

"Enlighten me Dawes, how does it look?"

She decided that a degree of honesty was the best policy and taking a deep breath said,

"I went to check on Charles James after yesterday's events. I needed to find out if he was OK. We're friends." She gazed at him anxiously.

McCloud, weighing this information up, paused for a moment before saying,

"He was your Captain in Afghan, wasn't he? I know what you did out there."

Molly was shocked and despite several years in the army couldn't help uttering,

"Really!" Her mind was horrified at the thought that he might know something about the relationship between herself and Charles in Afghanistan.

He was taken aback by her response.

"What do you think I'm talking about?" he said and then seeing confusion in her expression continued,

"Never mind, _I'm_ talking about the two occasions you risked your life to save others including your Captain. You're a good soldier, Dawes, and a first class medic." He saw his words sinking in and thought he could detect a degree of relief in her face.

"Get back on duty ASAP and we'll forget about it, this time. In spite of what most of you think, I'm not totally heartless. But whatever is going on, keep it on your time and don't let it affect your duty."

Relief washed over Molly. McCloud saw her shoulders relax. He had fifteen years in the RAMC and was a veteran of two tours in Afghanistan himself. He recognised a good medic when he saw one and she'd proved herself. She was doing a great job here and he was prepared to cut her a bit of slack this time.

"Thank you, Sergeant." Molly said and she turned to leave but he called her back.

"Just one thing, Dawes. Not a word to anyone about this. I'm not having my 'hard bastard' reputation undermined. OK?"

Molly wisely bit her lip and said nothing. However, by the time she had walked ten paces away from him, McCloud saw her shoulders rise and fall in stifled laughter and sighing he said to himself,

"You're goin' soft, you daft bugger!"


	6. Chapter 6

The moment the words had left his lips he knew he had made a mistake.

"What the fuck do you mean, 'didn't I learn anything in Afghan?'"

Charles had only ever seen Molly angry at him once before, back in Bastion when she had learned about the existence of Rebecca and he hadn't blamed her. Then, she had spoken out of hurt but this was plain, unadulterated anger directed straight at him. He knew she had passion. It was one of the things he loved so much about her, but the sight of Molly standing before him, hands on hips, her face resolute and those eyes blazing mad and boring into him, was very uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry. I only meant that I thought you weren't getting yourself over-involved these days."

Charles could tell that this attempt at placating her had not made the situation any better.

"Asking you to try to pull some strings at that meeting so that we can find a way to get that poor baby sent to the UK for treatment, is not me getting _over involved_"

Hearing his own phrases thrown back at him by Molly was also decidedly uncomfortable

Charles sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to release the tension that was rapidly building. The last thing he wanted was to fall out with Molly over this, particularly as he was due to leave that morning and would be away for a number of days. He was being sent to the Capital where a meeting of the relief agencies had been convened to draw up consolidated plans for the next few months. It would be a good opportunity to get up-to-speed on latest developments and meet with other colleagues working in the country. His only regret about going would be leaving Molly.

The five weeks they had spent here had meant so much to Charles. Although they were both working long hours and facing personal challenges every day, they always made time for each other: five minutes in the morning, the occasional late night 'Astronomy' lesson under the stars or when possible Molly would time her breaks to coincide with Charles calling in at the Med Centre and they would snatch a few moments standing at the far end of the veranda to talk for as long as either of them could spare. Other colleagues had noticed their partiality for each other and if it was remarked upon, Molly was usually able to put it down to their previous acquaintance. If they believed there was something more to it than that, they diplomatically said nothing. Whilst gossip was usually rife in military circles, the situation here made such tittle-tattle seem completely trivial.

Since receiving Sergeant McCloud's advice the morning after Charles return with the hijacked truck, Molly had been at pains to avoid any repeat of reporting late for duty or being found in the wrong place at the wrong time. She didn't think McCloud would be quite so lenient a second time so she made sure that she was always off duty before she met Charles.

Occasionally, Molly had called in at the Operations Centre in the early evening to find Charles there with Simon Masters who, after a few minutes exchange of pleasantries, always seemed to discreetly disappear. It surprised Molly, that he was always so busy at that time of day but she was grateful that it allowed her to spend an uninterrupted half hour in Charles' arms away from prying eyes. Sometimes she just wanted to sink into his welcoming embrace, bury her head in his chest and let the strength of his arms support her. In those moments she needed his strength to renew her own. When Charles held her close after a difficult day he felt his own purpose for being here regenerated. They both knew that these private moments were limited and sometimes the last kiss before parting was charged with longing. It felt so wrong to part when they both wanted and needed to be with each other all the time, day and night.

Charles felt closer to Molly than ever before and it was this very closeness that had prompted him to speak so honestly about her suggestion that he use the meeting to find a way to get the baby, Joshua, to the UK for treatment. He had never expected this outburst from her. It felt wretched to be the cause of this anger but he had been told quite firmly, before leaving the UK, that his role was not to focus-in on individual cases and resources could not be diverted towards helping individuals, however worthy the cause. They were engaged in a mass relief effort. It was distressing, but he had no choice.

"Are you saying this because of Bashira?" Molly continued, "Because, we 'aint talking Taliban here – just one little boy who needs expert treatment. Now! Even Dr Garcia thinks he should go to Europe."

Charles knew that the six month old baby boy needed more help than their limited medical facilities could provide. He had arrived a few days ago with severe facial injuries caused by shrapnel from an explosion during a fire fight between rival factions near his village. The medical team had thought that he wouldn't survive but he seemed to have a tremendous fighting spirit and had surprised them all. There was no doubt that he needed specialist reconstruction surgery that would only be available far from here.

"Dr Garcia is a realist, Molly. He knows it's not always possible to get what you want." Charles tried to keep his voice neutral, he didn't want to antagonise her. He could see that she was still far from calm, bordering on emotional.

"And I suppose I'm not a realist? What _I_ know is that he's a little boy with no future. That's pretty realistic." Molly sighed and hung her head. She wiped a tear from the corner of one eye with the back of her hand and took a deep breath to steady herself.

Charles reached out for her but she raised both hands to him palms upwards in a gesture that said 'not now' and respecting this he took a step back. Silence fell. He searched his mind for something to say that would make both of them feel better about this situation. At last he offered,

"There are some charities that specialise in this. Maybe in time, something can be done."

Molly looked up,

"We all know the longer he waits the less successful any treatment will be. You accuse me of not learning anything from Afghan and then behave like _you're_ still there, just doing your job. What if it was _your_ son?"

Charles was visibly taken aback and Molly wondered if she had gone too far. She couldn't take the words back. He was staring at her, his mouth slightly open as if he couldn't believe she would use emotional blackmail. It felt underhand in some way, but she had been trying to get an emotional response from him. He took a few deep breaths in an effort to keep his reply calm and measured.

"Do you think that I just detach myself from my emotions and shut my eyes to what is happening here?"

Molly looked him in the eye and said with exasperation,

"Of course not. I just want you to find a way to help _one_ child!"

Charles loved her. God knows how much he loved her, but he felt that she was being unfair to him.

"This isn't about my personal feelings. What happens when the next child arrives and then the next? We simply don't have funds for this kind of treatment. This is about me being professional and doing what I have to do for the sake of as many people as possible."

They stared at each other for a full minute neither it seemed able to back down or add anything to the argument. They were disturbed by the sound of a car horn hooting outside.

"That's my transport." Charles said.

Molly nodded but didn't speak.

Charles turned around and gathered up his belongings. He didn't want to leave like this, he wasn't looking forward to being away from her and he couldn't bear the thought that she was angry with him. He walked towards her, wanting more than anything to draw her close to him and kiss her before he left. He spoke gently and quietly,

"I'm sorry, Molly, but I can't do what you're asking."

She raised her gorgeous eyes to look at him, but he saw disappointment there. She made no move towards him, so he kissed the top of her head, stroked her hair and then walked away.

Molly heard Charles shut the door of the office behind him and then the sound of the car engine revving and pulling away. She was immediately sorry.

"Bloody hell, Molly, what are you doing?" she asked herself and then the tears began to flow. She sat down on the desk put her head in her hands and wept.

It was an eighteen hour journey to the capital by road and Charles hadn't been looking forward to it. Now every mile that they travelled further away from the camp felt like a punishment. It was their first argument and it had happened at the worst possible moment when there was no chance of resolving the disagreement. He told himself that Molly would see reason and understand his point of view, but he was afraid that his enforced absence would just harden her opinion and cause a rift. He knew that he needed to put these thoughts to the back of his mind, it was futile to torture himself and to that end he was glad, several hours later, when they stopped en route to collect a colleague. At least the conversation helped to divert him for a while.

Molly had done her best to pull herself together but she still felt fragile. She was due on duty at the Med Centre and had made sure that she arrived on time. Sergeant McCloud noticed that she looked 'peaky' but made no comment. He knew that James had left that morning and assumed that there had been tearful farewells. He hadn't been fooled several weeks ago when he'd run into Molly on her way back to her quarters, but she'd behaved like a model soldier ever since and he couldn't help liking her even if she got the sharp edge of his tongue just as often as anyone else.

The first patient Molly saw on entering the Med Centre was little Joshua, swathed in bandages with an IV drip in his arm. His mother sat on the floor alongside him, hour after hour, stroking him gently, talking quietly and singing to him. Molly approached and smiled at her.

"How's he doing?"

Neither of them spoke each other's language, but it wasn't necessary. They understood each other. He was still fighting. He seemed to have an indomitable spirit. All the medics were drawn to him but Molly knew that he needed more than they could give him. She pondered Charles' words. Had baby Joshua become a substitute for Bashira?

Molly busied herself with her duties. There had been another lull in new arrivals during the past week and the overcrowding had begun to ease as some of the longer term residents had been relocated to another settlement camp some distance away.

The weather was as hot as ever, but when Lisa Morgan, cigarette in hand, came across Molly taking a break in the usual spot behind the Med Centre, she was surprised to see her shivering.

"What's up, Mols?" she asked. "Are you cold or something? It's well over ninety degrees today."

Molly gave her a half-hearted smile.

"I dunno, someone must have walked over my grave. That's what my nan would say."

Lisa lit up and they sat together in silence.

"Things alright with Mr James?" she asked after a while.

"Why wouldn't they be?" Molly replied, feeling irrationally irritated by the question. She had a headache and she supposed she was still annoyed with herself about this morning.

"OK, I'm sorry, Mols. No offence!" Lisa said quickly.

Molly shook her head.

"No. Ignore me. It's just this place. It's all so unfair."

She stood up to go but was strangely light headed and her legs felt heavy and wobbly. She stumbled and Lisa said with concern.

"Mols? "

Molly put her hand up to feel her forehead. She was burning hot.

Lisa realised that something was wrong.

"Come on, Mols, you're not well. Let's get you inside."

Lisa stood up and reached over to offer her friend support but the world was already drifting away from Molly, descending into darkness.


	7. Chapter 7

Charles wearily opened the door to his room. He had arrived in the capital just before midnight after a long, tiring drive. Having spent six weeks working in a refugee camp, the contrast between the sights before him now in a bustling, urban environment and those he had left behind were marked. He was initially startled by the lights, the traffic in the streets even relatively late at night, and observing people going about their business as if the troubles he had seen in the south of the country didn't exist. He knew he would adjust within a day or so. He had felt the same way during decompression in Cyprus after each of his first three tours of Afghanistan but at this moment everything was being pulled into a sharper focus because of the world he had left behind.

Charles and his colleagues were being accommodated for the next three days in a hostel in the south of the city. His room was basic with the only furniture being a bed, table and chair but it was clean and after weeks of sleeping on a camp bed to him it bordered on luxurious. They had eaten on the road using ration packs they had brought with them as these were considered a far safer option than risking the consumption of any food purchased locally on the journey. On arrival at the hostel, given the lateness of the hour and the need to be at the meeting at eight thirty tomorrow morning, he had wished his colleague, Alex Berwick, goodnight and then gratefully retired to his room.

Charles removed his boots and sank down heavily upon the bed which creaked noisily under his weight. Alone at last, his thoughts finally returned to Molly. He had deliberately engaged Alex in conversation for much of the journey in order to prevent himself dwelling on their last conversation and thankfully Alex had proved to be a good travelling companion. He was a single man in his early forties and an experienced field aid worker, having served overseas for much of the last ten years. Not only did they talk about their work but they found that they shared interests in music and books. The time had passed easily and Charles had been grateful. Now, however, alone in the darkness, he thought of Molly and wondered if she was gazing at the stars on her own tonight possibly wishing that he was with her. He leaned over to the window and opened one of the shutters letting the noise from the city into his room. He stared skywards but the light from the streetlamps had obliterated his view of the stars.

Molly lay upon a bed in a cordoned-off area of the Med Centre that served as an isolation ward. She was feverish. Her head ached acutely and the pain behind her eyes was incessant making it hard for her to open them. Worse was the aching of her muscles and limbs. She felt worse than after her first PT session on basic training. Every small movement was an effort. She had been lying here for hours since Lisa had sounded the alarm and Tony, one of her male colleagues, had carried her into the Med Centre. Unable to determine the cause of her illness, Dr Garcia had decided to treat the symptoms and prescribed antipyretic drugs to try to bring her temperature under control. For now, they had decided to keep her isolated from the other patients, fearing that she might be suffering from a virus and wishing to avoid any infection risk to others.

Lisa, wearing gloves, a mask and infection overalls over her uniform, had arrived to see Molly after coming off duty.

"Well, Molly Dawes, you certainly like to scare the life out of people!" She joked.

Molly struggled to open her eyes. The pain was intense and she felt nauseous.

"Sorry…... Bit of a habit!" her voice was little more than a whisper.

She shut her eyes again and Lisa felt concerned for her.

"Have you been taking fluids, Mol?"

Molly gave a tiny shake of the head and groaned with pain.

Lisa reached for a bottle of water and lifted Molly up from the pillows to help her drink. She took a few sips and then seemed too exhausted to take any more. Lisa lay her back down. She seemed to have drifted off to sleep because she didn't respond when Lisa asked her if she needed anything else.

Lisa left Molly's bedside, carefully removed the mask, gloves and gown, disposing of them appropriately before seeking out Dr Garcia. He was sitting at his desk in a small room at the far end of the ward. She tapped lightly on the door. He looked up and seeing her took his glasses off and massaged the bridge of his nose where a small red indentation line had appeared.

"Dr Garcia, I'm worried about Molly. She seems really unwell and not very responsive. She's not able to manage intake of fluids by herself."

Dr Garcia was a kindly man in his fifties, married with two teenage daughters back in Barcelona. Every year he spent four months working on a voluntary basis with a medical charity and had worked in different regions of Africa on several occasions. This was the first time he'd worked with British army medics and it had been a good experience. He liked Molly and Lisa and he could tell that Lisa was genuinely worried. He sat back in his chair and stretched out his legs in front of him.

"I appreciate your concern, Lisa, but at the moment her symptoms are very general, it really could be anything at all including something as mundane as influenza." He smiled at her.

"You're good friends aren't you?"

Lisa nodded. It was true that she and Molly had hit it off right from the start, back in pre-deployment training. It had been good to have a female friend out here and she didn't like seeing Molly suffering so much. Some of the other medics had succumbed to odd viruses or stomach bugs, but they had been relatively mild and everyone had shaken them off within a day or two. She had never seen anyone collapse like Molly.

Dr Garcia tapped his fingers on the desk as if it helped him to think.

"I'll ask that she's given fluids regularly in the night. If she can't manage them I will set up an IV, OK?"

It was the best he could do for now and Lisa knew it. She thanked him and reluctantly returned to her quarters, hoping that Molly would be a little better in the morning.

The relief charities were using a local secondary school hall as their conference centre. Arriving there the next morning with Alex, Charles recognised a handful of colleagues he had met in London during his training and they greeted one another and shook hands. During the morning they were briefed on current political events and updated on the military situation and its impact on their combined efforts. The fighting had moved further south in the country and the flow of refugees northwards had increased. They were apprised of the plans to meet the expected increase in the coming weeks.

Mid –morning they took a break and Charles took the opportunity to stretch his legs and wander outside into the school playground. It was another blazing hot day. He stood in the shade and fanned himself with some papers in his hand.

"S'truth, it's a mighty hot one today."

He was surprised by a voice behind him and turning around saw standing nearby a tall, lean, well-tanned, blond-haired young man who, from his accent, was obviously an Australian.

"You're right there." Charles replied with a smile.

"Mind you, I've seen plenty hotter in the outback." The Australian continued, stepping forward with his hand extended in greeting.

Charles shook hands with him, "Charles James."

"Dan Helford." He reciprocated.

Charles noticed the label, 'OZWINGS', on Dan's shirt and asked him about his involvement in the relief programme.

"I'm a pilot. We're a bunch of bush pilots who got together and started up OZWINGS as a charity. We fly light aircraft in and out of some of the more inaccessible areas of the country. You know, dodgy landings a speciality!" He joked.

Responding to more questions from Charles he continued to tell him how they flew in supplies to remote areas and sometimes brought people back out again. It was fascinating but all too soon they were being called back into the meeting.

"D'you wanna catch a beer later?" Dan asked him.

Charles shrugged his shoulders, "Sure. Do you know anywhere we can get one?"

Dan laughed,

"Come on mate, do you think an Aussie wouldn't know where to get a cold beer in town?"

Charles liked Dan's self-deprecating humour

"You're on!"

Later that evening, Charles, Dan and Alex were sitting in the bar of the Majestic Hotel, the best hotel in the capital, with three ice cold beers lined up before them. Charles savoured the beer. It had been a long while since he'd had a drink and he enjoyed it. The company was pleasant and the conversation flowed, although at the back of his mind he knew he would like to have been sitting here with Molly.

They were discussing some of the plans outlined that afternoon, particularly the medical developments. The conversation with Molly two days ago had played on his mind and the more he learned about the agencies working out here the more he thought that he might have been hasty in his response. He knew that his own charity did not have funds for projects such as baby Joshua, but he wondered if Alex, with considerably more knowledge could advise him.

"Alex, what's the best way to get a badly injured child sent to the UK for treatment?"

Alex leaned back in his chair and considered this.

"You can trawl around the various medical charities and try to find one that will financially support this case or the simplest way is to raise the money for treatment yourself but either way is likely to take time. No magic overnight solutions, I'm afraid."

He considered this advice and they talked some more about this matter and many other issues both work related and personal although Charles kept his relationship with Molly to himself. He had selfish motives. He loved her and he just wanted to savour that happiness. It belonged to them alone, just for now.

Towards the end of the evening it emerged that Alex would not be returning with Charles in two days' time after the meeting as he had some other matters to follow up in the city before leaving. Charles was disappointed as the eighteen hour journey back to the camp would be very tedious in his own company.

"I could give you a lift down there if you like." Dan interjected. "There's a rough landing strip north of there, I've been down that way once or twice before. I'm pretty sure I could swing another trip out that way. I'll get someone to swap with me. It'd probably take you about four hours by road from there. Well, better not call it 'road' that might just be overstating it slightly. Could you arrange transport?" Charles felt sure that something could be managed; in fact, he knew he would do anything to get back a day earlier than he was expected. He was really grateful to Dan because it meant that he could return to Molly even sooner.

It was the second morning that Lisa had called in to see Molly at the Med Centre and Molly's third day in the ward. Molly was lying in bed, only semi-conscious and attached to an IV saline drip. By the end of the first night it was apparent that she was too weak to take fluids voluntarily and Dr Garcia had been true to his promise to give her fluids intravenously.

Once properly dressed to prevent infection, Lisa went over to see Molly. She seemed a little brighter and her voice was slightly stronger although there was a pallor that was at odds with the weeks in such a hot climate.

"How you feeling, Mols?"

"Weak." But she managed a small smile. The fluids must be helping, "You OK?"

Lisa shook her head and said brusquely, "Don't worry about the rest of us. Everyone's fine. Fancy a bit of wash and brush up then?"

"Is the Queen coming?" Molly tried to joke but the laugh didn't follow.

Lisa fetched a bowl of clean water, a cloth and towel and gently washed and dried Molly's face. She was still very feverish, so Lisa pulled back the light sheet covering Molly and pulled up her T Shirt a little way to reveal her stomach and lower torso. She stared for a few seconds and then glanced quickly at Molly, who had her eyes shut and seemed to be drifting off again.

Leaving Molly exactly as she was, Lisa hurried out to find Dr Garcia. She found him in the main ward. Careful to keep her distance and still wearing her infection overalls she called to him,

"Dr Garcia!"

He looked over to where she was standing. He saw the concern on her face.

"Can you come at look at Molly, there's something you should see."

Dr Garcia made his way along the ward, rapidly donned infection overalls, gloves and a mask and then entered the isolation area to see Molly. He stared down at Molly's stomach and torso taking in the red flush-like stain covering her skin. He touched her skin with his fingers, applying pressure. Lisa watched him intently.

He stepped back and exhaled deeply.

"You were right to call me, Lisa."

To her surprise he took off his mask.

"I'm pretty sure, now I've seen the rash, that Molly has Dengue Fever. I've seen and treated it before. The early symptoms are similar to many conditions but I'm pretty sure from seeing the rash that's what it is. We'd need a blood test to be sure but we're not really set up for that here. A sample would need to go to a proper lab for testing. Dengue Fever's not contagious. It's spread by the bite of an infected mosquito and it's endemic in this region."

Lisa took off her mask and looked Dr Garcia directly in the eye.

"Will she be OK?"

He shrugged, "In most cases, yes. The worst is usually over in seven to ten days. There's no specific treatment just giving fluids and time. But.." He paused and Lisa felt anxious, "Sometimes, there can be complications. We'll just have to see how she goes over the next couple of days."


	8. Chapter 8

When Charles put down the phone on Thursday evening after speaking to Simon Masters via satellite phone, he was worried. He had called to request some transport to pick him up from the airstrip tomorrow morning. Dan's offer of a lift had been far too good to pass up and he was looking forward to getting back. Simon had confirmed that he would send a driver up country to meet Charles but his response to Charles' general enquiries about whether everything was under control had raised questions in his mind. Simon seemed to hesitate before saying,

"Everything's running smoothly enough."

"But?" Charles asked

There was a small hesitation again before Simon said,

"Nothing…. I'll tell you about it when I see you tomorrow."

Charles had the distinct impression that Simon was hiding something but reasoned to himself that it might just as easily be explained by poor reception on the satellite phone as his own powers of intuition. He had no intention of trying to second guess the situation. He therefore, wisely, put his concerns to one side. At times like these something that he had once heard quoted somewhere, perhaps when he was a child at school, always seemed to come back to him and had served him well; _Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow has enough worries of its own._

The next morning Dan collected Charles from the hostel at seven o'clock on his way out to the airfield at which OZWINGS was based. After checking in with the duty controller and picking up his delivery chits, Dan checked the supplies already loaded on board the small single-engine, six-seater plane. He submitted his flight plan and carried out his pre-flight checks. Within half an hour they were airborne and from his seat next to Dan in the cockpit, Charles had an opportunity to view the landscape from the air. From up here, it looked like a peaceful patchwork quilt of russet and golden brown interspersed with contrasting shades of green.

Dan made a couple of quick stops to drop off supplies en route before approaching the dirt landing strip that was nearest one to the refugee camp. He pointed down at the ground below and shouted above the sound of the engine,

"The landing strip's down there and it looks like your transport's waiting."

Charles looked down as Dan banked the plane to the left before straightening out and descending for landing. He saw a flat strip of land about a hundred and fifty metres long and next to it a jeep was waiting with its driver standing alongside, his hands shading his eyes from the sunlight as he watched the plane's descent. Touchdown was surprisingly bumpy as the strip was far more pitted and uneven than it appeared from the air.

"Sorry about that, out of my control!" Dan shouted again as the little plane taxied back along the landing strip towards the waiting transport.

As they drew nearer, Charles recognised Moses, one of the local aid workers standing next to the jeep. The plane came to a standstill and Charles climbed out of the cockpit and waved in greeting to Moses. Dan came around from the other side of the plane, carrying Charles' bag. He handed it over and Charles said conversationally,

"What's your schedule now, do you have much further to go today?"

"I've got a couple of drop offs further up country then I'm over-nighting before making a return run first thing tomorrow" Dan replied

"Well, safe journey! Thanks again." Charles offered his hand and Dan shook it

"Catch you again, sometime. You know where we are!"

Charles and Moses watched him climb back into the plane, start up the engine, taxi to the far end of the runway and take off. He circled once, giving them a wave as he passed, before heading north.

Charles offered to drive back. Moses had already had a long drive over bad roads to pick him up and had started out at first light. They talked occasionally although Moses was a quiet man not given to long conversations. After a lengthy silence that started to feel awkward, Charles thought it incumbent on him to say something.

"How's everything going? Are the changed duty rotas working OK?"

Moses smiled and nodded,

"Oh yes, they are working very well."

It seemed as if that would be his only response, but then he added,

"But Maria had to go and help at the Med Centre because the medics have some problems."

"Problems?" Charles queried.

"Yes, one of them broke his wrist and another is very sick." Came the reply.

"Who's sick?" Charles enquired

Moses paused before replying, Charles glanced across at him.

"I'm sorry I couldn't remember her name. She is the kind girl, the one with the dark hair…um…..Molly?"

Charles felt a chill run through him. How he kept concentrating on the potholed track ahead of him he didn't know.

"What's wrong with her?" He said too quickly although he managed to keep his voice level.

Moses replied after another short think,

"The Doctor said Dengue Fever but she doesn't look good. I heard the Doctor is worried."

The news was getting much, much worse. Charles dreaded asking more.

"How long has she been ill?"

Moses replied more promptly,

"Since Monday."

It was Friday – _Friday for god's sake his mind shouted at him._ Five days had passed! Now he knew what Simon had been trying to hide last night. He felt irrationally annoyed with him. Simon should have told him! It took all his powers of concentration to get them back to the camp in one piece but he was glad that he had something to do. He didn't know much about Dengue Fever. He thought he'd heard it described as a nasty, unpleasant illness but not life-threatening, surely not. However, hearing that Dr Garcia was concerned rang alarm bells in his brain.

When he finally drove into the camp he made his way straight round to the Med Centre. As he went through the entrance he saw a group including Simon, Dr Garcia and Sergeant McCloud disappearing into Dr Garcia's office. He was tempted to go straight after them and ask '_what the hell is going on?'_ He felt so inexplicably furious. However, he forced himself to bring his feelings under control and instead went looking for Molly. He scanned the beds in each of the three main wards until, in a far corner, away from the other patients, he found her. Lisa Morgan was with her, replacing an IV drip. She turned around at the sound of his approach.

"Almost finished." She said quietly.

Charles stood back, until Lisa had made the last adjustment.

"I'll leave you to talk to her." She said stepping back. "She might not answer you but talk anyway."

Charles took one look at Molly, lying motionless, pale and fragile, a shadow of the feisty girl he had left behind on Monday and was overcome with guilt that he hadn't been here. He was admonished by the sight of her beautiful hair, dark with sweat and plastered to her forehead and the eyes that had burned with feeling and passion, being closed to him. He drew breath, slowly and unsteadily and crouched down to be at the same level as her bed. He reached for and grasped her left hand in with his right hand.

"Molly!"

He thought he saw the flicker of her eyelids.

"Molly, its Charles. I've come back to you."

The treasured words had never held more meaning for him.

Molly's eyes opened and Charles saw a grimace on her face. Whether it was pain or simply the light he couldn't tell. Whether she saw him he didn't know but she spoke.

"I'm sorry." Her voice was quiet and sounded hoarse.

He was chastened by these words. He reached out his left hand to touch her face and gently stroked her cheek. It felt clammy to his touch.

"There's nothing to be sorry about. Don't blame yourself." He said quietly.

"You were right." She spoke in a whisper and he almost failed to catch the words. Now he knew she was thinking about the argument.

He needed her to look at him again to see that he was sorry.

"No, I _wasn't_ right."

There was silence and he thought she had fallen asleep. He leaned over and kissed her forehead.

Her eyes darted open and with his face directly above hers, they looked straight into each other's eyes. He squeezed her hand very tightly willing her to gain strength from him.

"I love you, Dawsey!"

He saw just the merest flicker of a smile and then she seemed to fall asleep again.

Charles sat down on the floor next to Molly's bed still holding her hand. This was worse than he had imagined. He had not expected to find her so ill. It was no wonder Simon had not wanted to tell him last night over the telephone and he forgave him. He sat next to Molly in silent misery, unsure what to do next.

Five minutes later Charles was disturbed by Lisa Morgan padding quietly over to him.

"Dr Garcia and Sergeant McCloud would like to talk to you if you can leave Molly for a while. I'll stay here with her if you like."

He nodded gratefully, reluctantly released Molly's hand and got up. As he wandered away from her towards Dr Garcia's office, Lisa whispered to Molly.

"He really loves you."

Dr Garcia wasted no words.

"I think Molly has developed a severe form of Dengue Fever. It's rare and very serious. This isn't the right place for her. She needs to be near an ICU and for that she needs to be evacuated to a proper hospital, ideally back in the UK."

Although this did not surprise Charles, it was still difficult to hear it said and the fears he had been suppressing for hours began to bubble back to the surface making it hard for him to maintain a calm outward appearance.

"Can a medical evacuation be arranged?" Dr Garcia asked.

McCloud spoke first.

"She needs to be taken down to the main airbase they have the personnel and resources to undertake medical evacuations back to the UK from there."

Dr Garcia shook his head.

"That will take too long. It's two days by road from here. She's too weak to make that journey."

With difficulty Charles spoke up at this point.

"We've also been told this week that road transport south of here is unsafe. Fighting has moved into that area. We can't take her by road."

"What about air evacuation from here?" Dr Garcia suggested.

McCloud shook his head. "Not possible."

They were running out of options. Charles felt increasingly desperate. This was very serious. There had to be something he could do, he couldn't and wouldn't let this happen to her and then an idea came to him.

"There might be a way." Charles said suddenly. "The flight that brought me in today is part of a charity. I know the pilot. He's gone up country but will be flying back this way tomorrow to return to the capital. If we could get a message through to him he might be able to detour to the airstrip and pick up Molly."

They all looked at each other for ten seconds weighing up the suggestion before Dr Garcia spoke decisively.

"Try it! We need to get her out of here as soon as possible!"

Two hours later, to their utter relief, Charles and Simon had managed to make the necessary arrangements. Charles had managed to get through to OZWINGS control on the satellite phone and although they couldn't speak directly to Dan, the control centre there had promised try to get a message though to his overnight stop. It was agreed that they would be at the landing strip at first light tomorrow in the hope that Dan would be able to collect Molly and fly her down to the airbase. Sergeant McCloud had contacted the airbase and they were now on standby to receive a casualty for tomorrow morning. It had also been agreed with Sergeant McCloud that Lisa Morgan would travel with Molly as far as the airbase. Charles was desperate to fly down with her but knew that he had to stay here. It reminded him of those times in Afghanistan when he had wanted to throw the military rule book out of the window and simply tell Molly how he really felt about her. Once again his duty was standing in the way but in his heart he knew that Molly would understand. Even if he was unable to travel all the way with her he insisted that he should be the one to drive Molly and Lisa up to the airstrip and a light covered pick-up truck was made available for the journey.

Sunrise in this part of Africa was about five thirty in the morning and given the bad terrain over which they must travel, the three of them set off just after midnight with Charles at the wheel and Molly on a stretcher in the back of the truck with Lisa. Fortunately, Molly seemed to sleep through most of the journey. Despite Charles best efforts, it was very uncomfortable. Lisa was bumped around in the back of the truck and although they had strapped the stretcher down as best they could, she found herself holding onto Molly many times to try to stop her sliding around.

It was still dark when they arrived at the airstrip. Lisa gratefully climbed down from the back of the truck and stretched her legs.

"I reckon I'll be black and blue tomorrow!" she remarked to Charles.

"Sorry, I did my best!" He was lost in thought.

Lisa shook her head, "It doesn't matter. You got her here and God willing she's got a chance, now."

Charles silently crossed his fingers and prayed that Dan had received the message and would turn up.

Lisa wandered off a little way and Charles climbed into the back of the truck. He pulled a torch out of his pocket and shone it on Molly. She was breathing unsteadily and seemed restless. He reached for her hand.

"Molly! Can you hear me?"

Her eyes opened and she said faintly,

"Where am I?"

"You're at an airstrip. We're going to get you flown down to the airbase for medevac back to the UK." Charles tried to sound positive and reassuring.

"What's this then? You saving my life now, Boss?"

He was heartened by what sounded like a joke but at the same time he couldn't tell if she was confused about where she was.

He smiled down at her.

"Yeah, I thought it was about time I returned the favour."

As the words left his lips he prayed that this would come true.

Dawn broke. The sun rose steadily over the horizon and the soft rose coloured light of early morning gradually gave way to another sparkling, hot day. As the light improved, Charles and Lisa scanned the sky waiting and praying for the sound of an aircraft in the distance. They had been waiting for almost ninety minutes and Charles' fears were increasing that the message had not reached Dan when at last, through binoculars, he spotted a small black dot which grew larger with every minute that passed until he could see the plane directly overhead. It circled the airstrip, made a reasonable landing and then taxied over to the truck. Dan waved in greeting. He turned the engine off and climbed out of the cockpit.

Charles called out to him,

"Am I glad to see you!"

Before Dan had walked five paces he replied,

"Crikey, mate, when I said catch you again sometime, I didn't think it would be this soon!"

As he reached them, Charles said,

"It must have been fate running into you this week."

Dan nodded his head,

"Yeah. Everything's part of a plan. It's just a matter of whether you stick to it or go your own way!"

Fortunately, Dan had been returning empty to the Capital, so once the seats in the plane were folded back there was room for Molly's stretcher to lie on the floor in the passenger area. All three of them helped to carry her and place the stretcher in the plane. Lisa discreetly stood back a little way whilst Charles leaned in to have a last word with Molly.

She had stirred again, the restlessness had returned. It was if she knew they were about to part. She looked at him, clearly focussing. He held her hand and her fingers felt cold and lifeless. He gently rubbed them trying to bring some warmth and life back.

"You get yourself better, Molly Dawes and I _will _come back to you." He couldn't hide the emotion in his voice.

"Promise?" she whispered.

"Cross my heart!"

He gave her a final kiss on the cheek and then stood back to allow Lisa to climb in next to Molly. She said nothing just nodded at him and Dan stepped forward to close the door.

"Don't worry! " He said quietly to Charles, "I know precious cargo when I see it. She's safe with me."

They shook hands and shortly afterwards. Charles watched the little plane take off and head towards the horizon. He stood there for a long while watching the dot get smaller and smaller until it disappeared from sight.

Molly had no perception of time. She remembered snatches of conversation. People she knew had talked to her, other people she had never met before had appeared. She had images in her mind of people leaning over her, talking to her, touching her and moving her around. There had been uncomfortable journeys, the sounds of car engines and aeroplanes. Everything had passed in a crazy jumble as if part of an illogical dream. Somewhere in the middle of all of this she had heard Charles telling her he loved her but he didn't seem to be with her now.

When she opened her eyes she had no idea where she was. The room was bright, clean and modern. She saw medical equipment and realised it must be a hospital. Then she heard a familiar voice exclaim,

"Oh, Molly, love. What have you been doing to yourself?"

She turned her head to see her mum sitting at her bedside and knew that she was home again.


	9. Chapter 9

The Dawes family home was not the ideal environment in which to convalesce after suffering from a serious illness. No matter how many times, Belinda Dawes shouted at the younger Dawes siblings to 'Pipe down, you little bleeders. Molly needs her rest!' it seldom had the desired effect for more than a few minutes. Even if Molly stayed in her bedroom she was usually disturbed by her younger sister, Bella, with whom she shared the room. Privacy was a little known luxury for the Dawes family.

Molly had been warned that she might suffer from fatigue after her recovery from a severe form of Dengue Fever and almost three weeks after being discharged from hospital she still found herself suddenly overcome by exhaustion and would need to stop whatever she was doing and rest. With so much spare time on her hands, she didn't really know what to do with herself. Mostly she stayed in her room lying on her bed, idling the time away and thinking back over events. Occasionally, if she could prise her Dad, Dave, away from the television for long enough, she would stretch out on the sofa downstairs but only if the house was relatively quiet. It was at moments like these that she found her mind drifting back to those still, warm nights in Africa, gazing at the stars with Charles by her side.

The best time of day was lunchtime when her younger siblings were at school or nursery and Dave quite often nipped out for 'a swift half' which was seldom swift and never merely a half. These were the times that she and Belinda could sit down together and talk. Her mum didn't pretend to understand everything Molly had experienced. She had learned from Molly's return from being on tour in Afghanistan that she needed to be allowed to unwind in her own time and that asking questions was counter-productive; if she wanted to talk about her experiences, she would.

The post had just been delivered and Belinda heard Molly hurrying down the stairs. She glanced out of the kitchen doorway and up the hallway to see Molly stooping to pick up a blue airmail letter from the mat.

"A letter for you, love?" she enquired.

Molly straightened up and turned to face her mum with a beaming smile on her face.

"Yeah, it's from a friend of mine."

"That's nice!" She raised her eyebrows slightly. Molly wasn't fooled. Belinda wasn't asking directly who the letter was from but Molly knew she wanted her daughter to tell her.

Molly sighed, "It's from Charles."

"_Charles_!" Belinda repeated, surprised at the name.

In all her correspondence home during the six weeks she had been in Africa, Molly hadn't once mentioned Charles. Belinda knew that Molly had been involved in the rescue of her Captain and her friend, Smurf, shortly before returning from Afghanistan. She had been surprised when Molly had not wanted to go and see Smurf in hospital on her return. All her enquiries on the subject had met with,

"Just leave it out, mum, it's my business!"

She had assumed that Molly and Smurf had fallen out. It seemed a shame to Belinda as she'd liked him when she met him during Molly's R&R. She thought it might only be a small tiff of some kind that would easily resolve itself over time but nothing seemed to have changed. Molly had certainly seemed pretty miserable during her post tour leave and Belinda had put it down to readjusting and possibly missing Smurf. However, Molly had gone back to her unit and then onto a long training course before volunteering for this most recent deployment. There had been no further mention of Smurf and she had to assume that whatever had existed between them was now over.

"Yes, _Charles_." Molly repeated to her mum, pulling a face and feeling disinclined to elaborate further.

"Just showing an interest, love. It's nice to know about your friends." Belinda said quietly.

Molly hesitated. Perhaps now was the moment to open up just a little to her mum. At some point she hoped that she would be able to tell the full truth but she had realised a long time ago, that her family liked Smurf and had misinterpreted their relationship. She wasn't sure how they would react to her news about Charles.

"Charles is the Senior Field Officer for the main charity at the refugee centre." She offered.

"Oh, nice!" Belinda responded and carried on looking at Molly as if she expected more information and Molly fell into the trap.

"We knew each other before he left the army. We just happened to run into each other in Africa."

"Cor, it's a small world, aint it? Fancy that happening." Belinda replied

"Yeah, " Molly agreed, "Fancy!"

Belinda seemed satisfied and headed back into the kitchen,

"Want a cuppa, love? I'll bring it through. You go and read your letter."

Molly settled down on the sofa and opened the letter. It was the second one she had received since being home. The first had arrived while she was still in hospital and her mum had brought it in for her to read. It had cheered her enormously to hear from him and although never having previously been a diligent scholar, she had written back to him, taking great care with her spelling and grammar because it had suddenly mattered to her a great deal to express her feelings properly.

Just like the first time, the sight of his handwriting on the page made her heart leap. There was something very personal and intimate to Molly about receiving a handwritten letter knowing that someone had spent time composing these words just for her. She traced her index finger over the paper and felt the slight indentations on the page where his pen had applied pressure as he wrote. She imagined him sitting at his desk in the Operations Centre writing this letter and wished that she was there. Seeing his handwriting on the page, she smiled to herself, remembering the time he had written 'Rosabaya' on her arm in the Med Tent before she left for R&R. That had been the first moment that she had realised _he_ had feelings for her. She had cherished that message and kept it on her arm for days, carefully drying it whenever she had a shower, to preserve it for as long as possible. Whenever she had looked at that message in the days that followed, she recalled that moment in the Med Tent and felt those sensations anew. She had wished her leave away longing to return to him.

In his letter Charles told her that the situation was finally easing in the camp. There had been a ceasefire in the civil war and both sides had agreed to formal talks. They were beginning to see people returning home or being resettled and it seemed likely that Molly's fellow medics might return home in the next few weeks as the medical staff had the situation under control. She was glad to hear that things were getting better but wondered how long Charles would be there. They had never discussed this situation. She had expected to be in Africa for at least three months and their reunion, so unexpected and wonderful to both of them, had been much too brief for either of them. In his letter Charles didn't mention anything about the length of his contract or when he might next take leave in the UK. He did, however, take time at the end of the letter to tell her how much he missed her. She smiled at the phrase,

_"What I wouldn't give to hear you swearing at me again. Accept that as proof, if ever you needed it, that I love you."_

Coming into the lounge, carrying two mugs of steaming tea, Belinda saw Molly smiling and said,

"Good news?"

Molly looked up warily. She'd already said more than she had intended earlier.

"Yeah. Things are getting better…_there_!"

Five days later, Molly was woken from her sleep at six in the morning by the sound of her phone vibrating on the bedside table. It was light outside and she blinked a few times, trying to focus on the flashing display. Catching the name of the caller she almost dropped the phone in her haste to pick up.

"Charles!" she said excitedly.

"Molly?" The line was faint but it was unmistakeably him.

"Where are you?" She asked in wonder

"On my way back to the UK. I'm sorry to call at such an ungodly hour but I just wanted to let you know as soon as possible." He sounded uncharacteristically flustered. There were other voices in the background and the sound of engines.

"Where are you?" She asked.

"Don't worry about it. I'm just in transit right now. I've got to go. Can you meet me tomorrow at three thirty pm in Russell Square gardens…..by the fountains?" His voice was getting fainter, the connection was very poor.

"Yes!" She almost shouted down the phone unsure whether he had heard her reply.

She waited for a response but the line had gone dead.

Molly threw herself back on the pillows and stared at the slats of the bunk above her. She laughed to herself, it would take an earthquake to wake Bella who continued to sleep despite the noisy phone exchange. She sighed deeply and smiled. At last, he was coming back and they could spend time together.

The next thirty six hours seemed to pass interminably slowly. Molly remembered how she had felt as a small child on Christmas Eve willing the hours to pass more quickly and bring the longed for day nearer and yet as the time approached she felt a growing sense of apprehension. Uncomfortable memories returned of the train journey to visit Charles in hospital when she had lost her courage at the last moment. It was the same feeling of wanting to travel but being afraid to arrive.

She realised that Charles had never seen her wearing anything other than her uniform, with a scrubbed clean face, hair scraped back and off of her collar and a pair of clumpy army boots on her feet. She remembered the sight of well-groomed, expensively dressed Rebecca in the hospital and felt her nerves return. For the very briefest of moments she allowed these thoughts to torture her before thankfully the voice of common sense and reason silenced them by simply telling her _'He loves you.'_

It was a fine, mild spring day with warm sunshine and a light breeze. Molly, dressed in a light summer dress and cardigan, exited Russell Street tube station and walked towards Russell Square Gardens. She was wearing new shoes and hoped they wouldn't hurt her feet too badly. After months of wearing mostly army boots and thick socks she wasn't used to shoes with heels and felt slightly unsteady on her feet. She crossed the road and entered the gardens. She was a little early so she slowed down and strolled along the tree-lined paths towards the fountains at the centre. The lovely weather had brought many visitors into the gardens, some couples lay sprawled on the grass others sat in small groups chatting. Despite the roar of traffic all around, in the gardens there was an air of peace and relaxation.

Molly followed the winding paths towards the fountains. She glanced at her watch; it was almost half past three. As she reached the fountains she looked at the groups of people around her taking in the scene. Some tourists nearby were laughing and joking and taking selfies and Molly smiled at the sight. Turning her head she looked through the water of the fountain. Charles stood out in the crowd. He was tall, lean, very tanned and had lost none of his military bearing. Dressed casually in a pale blue shirt and jeans, he stood waiting for her with an air of confidence in his stance that she remembered so well. He was directly opposite her looking to his left and right until finally he turned his head towards the fountain and looked directly at her.


	10. Chapter 10

**T****_hank you for all _****_so_****_ much for your lovely reviews. I really appreciate all the comments. All things must come to an end and this is the last chapter of 'Perhaps'. It ends at the point that I feel is the right place for this story. It's been a pleasure to write this and I've really enjoyed the process. Thank you for reading and also really big thanks to Tony Grounds for creating the two great characters we all love._**

Charles had been standing by the fountain for twenty minutes looking around him from time to time. He had been looking forward to this for five long weeks but now that the moment had arrived he was nervous and took a few deep breaths to steady himself whilst trying to relax his shoulders. He couldn't quite believe that he was here. The last time he had seen Molly had been at the airstrip and the memory was still etched in his mind. She had been so ill and he'd genuinely been afraid for her. Watching the little plane fly away had brought back memories of Molly leaving for R&R but then in spite of feeling bereft without her company he had known she would return. When the plane had flown away this last time he had no idea when or even if he would see her again although he had tried to suppress the latter thought with every ounce of mental strength he possessed.

Charles scanned around him again. He had no idea from which direction Molly would arrive and so regularly turned to his left and right to check the area near the fountain. It was only as he carried out another sweeping search and stopped to look directly ahead of him that he saw the lovely young woman standing opposite him on the other side of the fountain. She was wearing an attractive, summer dress; her long dark hair was hanging loosely around her shoulders. Their eyes locked and he saw a smile slowly spread across her face; his smile. He was overjoyed and couldn't help grinning broadly. Both of them moved at the same moment making their way around the fountain to meet half-way.

For a few seconds they both seemed to be rooted to the spot, staring at each other as if bewitched until Molly broke the spell and impulsively threw her arms around Charles' neck and he instinctively responded by encircling her in his arms and lifting her off her feet into a joyous embrace. He swung her around and held her close, breathing in her scent and enjoying the wonderful sensation of being close to her again before setting her back on her feet. She gazed up at him and he leaned towards her. Oblivious to everyone around them, they sought to dispel five weeks of separation and longing in a kiss.

Releasing her at long last but still keeping hold of her hands, Charles took a step back and regarded her with an appreciative eye.

"I hardly recognised you. You look so different!"

Molly could tell from the expression on his face that it was a change he liked but she teased him.

"Well, I did wonder how long it would take you to notice me?"

He looked sheepish and said earnestly,

"What I meant to say is that you look wonderful!"

It was Molly's turn to feel embarrassed so looking away for a moment to recover her composure she asked,

"Are you home on leave?"

"Sort of!" Came back the vague reply and when Molly looked back at him she thought he looked as if he was being evasive.

"Well, what's the plan, then?" she asked curiously.

"Now or later?"

Something in the tone of Charles' voice convinced her he was hiding something.

"Either?" she ventured unsure where this conversation was going.

Charles looked as if he was giving this some thought before he answered

"Well, I thought we could go out for dinner, if you like?"

Molly glanced at her watch and seeing the time frowned back at Charles,

"It's a bit early for dinner at quarter to four, isn't it?

Charles tried to look innocent as he said,

"I thought you might like to do something else first."

Molly's eyes widened in surprise and she stared at Charles unsure if he she had misinterpreted what he was saying.

Seeing the look on her face and realising her thoughts, he laughed and said at once,

"Not, _that_! I thought I might take you to visit someone."

Molly was completely taken aback and couldn't help saying in an alarmed voice,

"It's not your ancient Nan or something is it?"

Charles laughed at the look on her face and said, "That might be a bit much on a first date."

"Is that what this is?" Molly asked in all seriousness.

Charles looked down at her and reaching to gently touch her face said, "I suppose it is."

They walked hand in hand through the gardens in silent companionship. At each junction of the paths Charles gently directed her which way to turn. Molly was conscious of the way they fell in step with each other as they strolled together, Charles naturally slowing his pace to match hers. As they exited the gardens onto the main square, Molly asked,

"Where are we going? It's just that I didn't wear the right shoes for route marches."

Charles glanced down at her feet,

"Mmh, very nice, Dawesy and certainly not stilettos!" He caught her eye and she could tell he was suppressing a laugh as he continued, "Anyway, as I recall, you're 'the nuts' with blisters!"

She rolled her eyes at him,

"Yeah, other people's blisters!"

Fortunately for Molly she did not have far to walk. When they stopped a short time later she frowned at the name plate on the building in front of her and gave Charles a questioning look.

"Why have we stopped here?"

He smiled mysteriously and refused to be drawn on the reason. He merely nodded his head in the direction of the entrance and said,

"Come with me!"

As they entered Great Ormond Street Hospital and made their way to the third floor, realisation finally began to dawn on Molly. Charles said nothing, but it was with an increasing sense of wonder that Molly followed him along the corridors and finally as they were admitted to one of the wards, he said,

"There's someone you know here."

At the end of the corridor, Charles opened a door on the left into a small room. Lying in a cot, Molly saw Baby Joshua and sitting alongside him his mother. Seeing Charles and recognising Molly, Joshua's mother rose and came over to her, embracing her. Molly stared at Joshua in wonder. The realisation came to her that Charles had organised this.

"How did you manage this?" she asked in astonishment, "You said it couldn't be done!"

Charles looked her directly in the eye,

"I also told you, although you might not remember, that I _wasn't_ right. I realised that where's there a will there's usually a Molly Dawes."

As they sat with Joshua and his mother, Charles explained that whilst he'd been away in the capital he'd spoken to a number of people about Joshua's case and had been given some contacts.

"I was on my way back to tell you that we might be able to do something, but I didn't get the chance."

After Molly had been evacuated Charles and Dr Garcia had put out feelers and found a charity willing to fund treatment for Joshua provided the money could be found to bring him to the UK. When Molly asked Charles how they had found the money he replied modestly,

"Called in a few favours, tapped a few sources and let's just say, you aren't the only one with deployment money to burn!"

Molly was genuinely shocked.

"What about Sam? I never wanted you to give away money that he might need."

Charles shook his head,

"Sam is well provided for. It was because of what _you_ said. I knew I needed to do something to make this better for Joshua."

He stopped speaking and simply looked at her, knowing she would understand. She did. She knew that he had also done this to make everything better for her.

Much later in the evening, sitting at a quiet table in a small, intimate restaurant, Charles and Molly were finally able to talk honestly and openly about their future. Charles had told her that he was under contract to the charity for at least another six months and that they hoped he would renew his contract with them.

"What are we gonna do?" Molly asked.

"What do _you_ want to do, Molly?" he replied.

She sighed. She didn't know anymore. When she had been in Afghanistan there was nowhere else that she wanted to be and when she had been in the Camp she had felt the same. She knew she was a good medic and the army had given her so much and helped her to become the person she was, the type of person loved by a man like Charles. However, she didn't want it to divide her from those she loved. She made a decision.

She reached across the table to grasp Charles' hands. He was watching her intently.

"I love what I do but I don't need to be in the army to do it. I want to be with you, wherever that might be. I've decided that I'm going to leave the army and use my skills some other way or retrain so that I can carry on working with you." She saw the concern in his face.

"I can't let you throw away your career for me." He said with feeling.

"I'm not throwing anything away, "she replied. "The army gave me the opportunity to find out who I really was. It's always been there I just didn't know it. But the times I've been happiest and the times I've done my best work and felt that everything was possible, was when I was with you."

She could see he still had some reservations. She squeezed his hands to reassure him,

"Don't you see? I could stay in the army and be a good soldier and get promoted and we could spend our lives apart if all I wanted was a career. But it's being with _you_ that makes me the best I'm capable of being." A tear ran silently down her face. He knew she had spoken from the heart and that this was what she wanted.

He nodded in understanding and leaned across the table to wipe the tear away.

"Shall we go home?" He said gently.

"Home?" she queried.

His cheeky smirk reappeared,

"Well, my parents have a small flat in town. I stay there sometimes. It's a kind of home."

Molly regarded him seriously as if weighing this up.

"Do you need to call anyone?" Charles ventured, thinking of her family.

A smile started to hover on her lips, gradually breaking into a wide grin, swiftly accompanied by a giggle.

"No, I already told them I wouldn't be back tonight!"

The small one-bedroom flat was centrally located. Charles' parents liked to weekend in London and catch a show whenever possible and the key was always available to family and close friends. When he and Molly closed the front door behind them it was all Charles could do not to sweep her up in his arms in an instant but he knew they had waited a very long time for this moment and willed himself to be patient; he wanted this night to be unhurried and special. He walked slowly behind Molly along the hallway. As they reached the lounge he placed his hands lightly on her waist and leaned towards her to place a soft kiss on her neck and she turned her head to smile at him. He moved past her into the room and switched on a table lamp which emitted a soft glow.

"Would you like some coffee?" Charles asked politely although it was the last thing on his mind.

Molly stifled a laugh.

"Do you have any Rosabaya?"

Charles pulled a face at this suggestion.

"Don't you like Rosabaya?" She asked.

"Well…" he began, "It's alright, I suppose!"

"D'you mean to say that you sent me all the way to Regent Street to buy you bloody coffee capsules and you don't like them?" Molly exclaimed.

"I cannot tell a lie." Charles said, feigning innocence, " It's not my favourite but I just didn't want you to forget about me."

Molly started laughing and shaking her head,

"You prannet!"

"Let me guess, that's one of your Nan's sayings of which I've heard so many!" Charles retorted.

She looked at him. He wasn't mocking her, he was laughing with her.

He held out his hand to her and she took it as he led her towards the bedroom.

When Molly awoke the next morning she was momentarily confused by her surroundings, the unfamiliar bed and the strange light creeping through the heavy curtains. It was the distant rumble of London traffic which brought her back to her senses. She rolled over towards the centre of the bed to see Charles lying there awake beside her, his gentle brown eyes watching her intently and she fancied a smile of wonder on his face.

"If you only knew how many times I've dreamt of this." He whispered.

Molly reached out to him and he pulled her close. Lying face to face, there was nothing to divide them anymore, nothing to hold them back. He kissed her and gently ran his hand over her body appreciating every delightful contour.

Molly smiled back at him.

"You know, my Nan would say, be careful what you wish for."

Charles laughed softly and looking deep into her eyes replied,

"She's wrong this time. Everything's perfect!"


End file.
